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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

BEQUEST  OF 
PROFESSOR  JOHN  S.  P.  TATLOCK 


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THE 

SEVEN     LAMPS 


ARCHITECTURE. 


T  II  R 


SEVEN    LAMPS 


ARCHITECTURE, 


JOHN    RUSKIN, 


A.I.-THOR    or    "  MODERN    .'AlNTl.l.B." 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS,    DRAWN    AND    ETCHED    BY    THE    AUTHOR. 


NEW  YORK: 
WILEY     k      H  A  L  S  T  E  D , 

No.    361    BROADWAY, 
1857. 


CONTENTS 


Introductory           .... 

PAOI 

1 

Chapter  I. 

The  Lamp  of  Sacrifice 

7 

n. 

The  Lamp  of  Truth     . 

.       25 

m. 

The  Lamp  of  Power    . 

,      67 

IV. 

The  Lamp  of  Beauty  . 

.       85 

V. 

The  Lamp  of  Life 

123 

VI. 

The  Lamp  of  Memory 

.     146 

vn. 

The  Lamp  of  Obedienck 

165 

Notes 

179 

2226952 


LIST     OF     PLATES 


Plate 

I.  Ornaments  from  Rouen,  St.  Lo,  and  Venice  to/ac«  page      23 

II.  Part  of  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Lo,  Normandy         .         .       43 

m.  Traceries  from  Caen,  Bayeux,  Rouen,  and  Beauvais       .       48 

IV.  Intersectional  Mouldings    .         .         .         .         .         .52 

V.  Capital  from  the  Lower  Arcade  of  the  Doge's  Palace, 

Venice 73 

VL  Arch  from  the  Fa9ade  of  the  Church  of  San  Michele  at 

Lucca 76 

VJLl.  Pierced  Ornaments  from  Lisieux,  Bayeux,  Verona,  aaid 

Padua 78 

Vm.  Window  from  the  Ca'  Foscari,  Venice         ...       80 
IX.  Tracery  from  the  Campanile  of  Giotto,  at  Florence        .       85 
X.  Traceries  and  Mouldings  from  Rouen  and  Salisbury      .     105 
XL  Balcony  in  the  Campo  St  Benedetto,  Venice       .         .112 
XTT.  Fragments  from  Abbeville,  Lucca,  Venice,  and  Pisa      .     129 
XTTT.  Portions  of  an  Arcade  on  the  South  Side  of  the  Cathe- 
dral of  Ferrara 140 

XrV.  Sculptures  from  the  Cathedral  of  Rouen      .        .        .142 


P  K  E  F  A  C  E 


The  memoranda  which  form  the  basis  of  the  following 
Essay  have  been  thrown  together  during  the  preparation 
of  one  of  the  sections  of  the  third  volume  of  "  Modern 
Painters."*  I  once  thought  of  giving  them  a  more 
expanded  form ;  but  their  utility,  such  as  it  may  be, 
would  probably  be  diminished  by  farther  delay  in  their 
publication,  more  than  it  would  be  increased  by  greater 
care  in  their  arrangement.  Obtained  in  every  case  by 
personal  observation,  there  may  be  among  them  some 
details  valuable  even  to  the  experienced  architect ;  but 
with  respect  to  the  opinions  founded  upon  them  I  must  be 
prepared  to  bear  the  charge  of  impertinence  which  can 
hardly  but  attach  to  the  writer  who  assumes  a  dogmatical 
tone  in  speaking  of  an  art  he  has  never  practised.     There 


*  The  inordinate  delay  in  the  appearance  of  that  supplementary  volume 
has,  indeed,  been  chiefly  owing  to  the  necessity  under  which  the  writer  felt 
himself,  of  obtaining  as  many  memoranda  as  possible  of  mediaeval  buildings 
in  Italy  and  Normandy,  now  in  process  of  destruction,  before  that  destruction 
should  be  consummated  by  the  Restorer  or  Revolutionist.  His  whole  time 
has  been  lately  occupied  in  taking  drawings  from  one  side  of  buildings,  of 
which  masons  were  knocking  down  the  other ;  nor  can  he  yet  pledge  himself 
to  any  time  for  the  publication  of  the  conclusion  of  "  Modem  Painters  ;"  ha 
can  only  promise  that  its  delay  ehall  not  be  owing  to  any  indolence  on  hia 
part. 


VI  PREFACE. 

are,  however,  cases  in  which  men  feel  too  keenly  to  be 
silent,  and  perhaps  too  strongly  to  be  wrong ;  I  have  been 
forced  into  this  impertinence ;  and  have  suffered  too 
much  from  the  destruction  or  neglect  of  the  architecture 
I  best  loved,  and  from  the  erection  of  that  which  I  cannot 
love,  to  reason  cautiously  respecting  the  modesty  of  my 
opposition  to  the  principles  which  have  induced  the  scorn 
of  the  one,  or  directed  the  design  of  the  other.  And  I 
have  been  the  less  careful  to  modify  the  confidence  of  my 
statements  of  principles,  because  in  the  midst  of  the 
opposition  and  uncertainty  of  our  architectural  systems, 
it  seems  to  me  that  there  is  something  grateful  in  any 
positive  opinion,  though  in  many  points  wrong,  as  even 
weeds  are  useful  that  grow  on  a  bank  of  sand. 

Every  apology  is,  however,  due  to  the  reader,  for  the 
hasty  and  imperfect  execution  of  the  plates.  Having 
much  more  serious  work  in  hand,  and  desiring  merely  to 
render  them  illustrative  of  my  meaning,  I  have  sometimes 
very  completely  failed  even  of  that  humble  aim  ;  and  the 
text,  being  generally  written  before  the  illustration  was 
completed,  sometimes  naively  describes  as  sublime  or 
beautiful,  features  which  the  plate  represents  by  a  blot.  I 
shall  be  grateful  if  the  reader  will  in  such  cases  refer  the 
expressions  of  praise  to  the  Architecture,  and  not  to  the 
illustration. 

So  far,  however,  as  their  coarseness  and  rudeness 
admit,  the  plates  are  valuable  ;  being  either  copies  of 
memoranda  made  upon  the  spot,  or  (Plates  IX.  and  XI.) 
enlarged  and  adapted  from  Daguerreotypes,  taken  under 
my  own  superintendence.  Unfortunately,  the  great 
distance  from  the  ground  of  the  window  which  is  the 
subject   of   Plate   IX.   renders  even   the   Daguerreotype 


PREFACE. 


indistinct  ;  and  I  cannot  answer  for  the  accuracy  of  any 
of  tlie  mosaic  details,  more  especially  of  those  which 
surround  the  window,  and  which  I  rather  imagine,  in  the 
original,  to  be  sculptured  in  relief  The  general  propor- 
tions are,  however,  studiously  preserved  ;  the  spirals  of 
the  shafts  are  counted,  and  the  effect  of  the  whole  is  as^ 
near  that  of  the  thing  itself,  as  is  necessary  for  the 
purposes  of  illustration  for  which  the  plate  is  given.  For 
the  accuracy  of  the  rest  I  can  answer,  even  to  the  cracks 
in  the  stones,  and  the  number  of  them ;  and  though  the 
looseness  of  the  drawing,  and  the  picturesque  character 
which  is  necessarily  given  by  an  endeavor  to  draw  old 
buildings  as  they  actually  appear,  may  perhaps  diminish 
their  credit  for  architectural  veracity,  they  will  do  so 
unjustly. 

The  system  of  lettering  adopted  in  the  few  instances 
in  which  sections  have  been  given,  appears  somewhat 
obscure  in  the  references,  but  it  is  convenient  upon  the 
whole.  The  line  which  marks  the  direction  of  any 
section  is  noted,  if  the  section  be  symmetrical,  by  a  single 
fetter  ;  and  the  section  itself  by  the  same  letter  with  a 
line  over  it,  a. — a.  But  if  the  section  be  unsymmetrical, 
its  direction  is  noted  by  two  letters,  a.  a.  a^  at  its  extre- 
mities ;  and  the  actual  section  by  the  same  letters  with 
lines  over  them,  a.  d.  a^  at  the  corresponding  extremities. 

The  reader  will  perhaps  be  surprised  by  the  small 
number  of  buildings  to  which  reference  has  been  made. 
But  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  the  following  chapters 
pretend  only  to  be  a  statement  of  principles,  illustrated 
each  by  one  or  two  examples,  not  an  essay  on  European 
architecture ;  and  those  examples  I  have  generally  taken 
either  from  the  buildings  which  I  love  best,  or  from  tha 


Vin  PREFACE. 

schools  of  architecture  which,  it  appeared  to  me,  have 
been  less  carefully  described  than  they  deserved.  I  could 
as  fully,  though  not  with  the  accuracy  and  certainty 
derived  from  personal  observation,  have  illustrated  the 
principles  subsequently  advanced,  from  the  architecture 
of  Egypt,  India,  or  Spain,  as  from  that  to  which  the 
reader  will  find  his  attention  chiefly  directed,  the  Italian 
Romanesque  and  Gothic.  But  my  affections,  as  well  as 
my  experience,  led  me  to  that  line  of  richly  varied  and 
magnificently  intellectual  schools,  which  reaches,  like 
a  high  watershed  of  Christian  architecture,  from  the 
Adriatic  to  the  Northumbrian  seas,  bordered  by  the 
impure  schools  of  Spain  on  the  one  hand,  and  of 
Germany  on  the  other :  and  as  culminating  points  and 
centres  of  this  chain,  I  have  considered,  first,  the  cities 
of  the  Val  d'Arno,  as  representing  the  Italian  Roman- 
esque and  pure  Italian  Gothic  ;  Venice  and  Verona  as 
representing  the  Italian  Gothic  colored  by  Byzantine 
elements  ;  and  Rouen,  with  the  associated  Norman  cities, 
Caen,  Bayeux,  and  Coutances,  as  representing  the  entire 
range  of  Northern  architecture  from  the  Romanesque  to 
Flamboyant. 

I  could  have  wished  to  have  given  more  examples  from 
our  early  English  Gothic  ;  but  I  have  always  found  it 
impossible  to  work  in  the  cold  interiors  of  our  cathedrals  ; 
while  the  daily  services,  lamps,  and  fumigation  of  those 
upon  the  Continent,  render  them  perfectly  safe.  In  the 
course  of  last  summer  I  undertook  a  pilgrimage  to  the 
English  Shrines,  and  began  with  Salisbury,  where  the 
consequence  of  a  few  days'  work  was  a  state  of  weakened 
health,  which  I  may  be  permitted  to  name  among  the 
causes  of  the  slightness  and  imperfection  of  the  present 
Essay. 


TUB 


SEVEN  LAMPS 


AEOHITECTURE 


INTRODUCTORY. 

Some  years  ago,  in  conversation  with  an  artist  whose  works, 
perhaps,  alone,  in  the  present  day,  unite  perfection  of  drawing  -with 
resplendence  of  color,  the  writer  made  some  inquiry  respecting  the 
general  means  by  which  this  latter  quality  was  most  easily  to  be 
attained.  The  reply  was  as  concise  as  it  was  comprehensive — 
"  Know  what  you  have  to  do,  and  do  it" — comprehensive,  not  only 
as  regarded  the  branch  of  art  to  which  it  temporarily  applied,  but  as 
expressing  the  great  principle  of  success  in  every  direction  of  human 
effort ;  for  I  beheve  that  failure  is  less  frequently  attributable  to  either 
insufficiency  of  means  or  impatience  of  labor,  than  to  a  confused 
imderstanding  of  the  thing  actually  to  be  done  ;  and  therefore,  while 
it  is  properly  a  subject  of  ridicule,  and  sometimes  of  blame,  that  men 
propose  to  themselves  a  perfection  of  any  kind,  which  reason,  tempe- 
rarately  consulted,  might  have  shown  to  be  impossible  with  the  means 
at  their  command,  it  is  a  more  dangerous  error  to  permit  the 
consideration  of  means  to  interfere  ^vith  our  conception,  or,  as  is  not 
impossible,  even  hinder  our  acknowledgment  of  goodness  and 
perfection  in  themselves.  And  this  is  the  more  cautiously  to  be 
remembered ;  because,  while  a  man's  sense  and  conscience,  aided  by 
Revelation,  are  always  enough,  if  earnestly  directed,  to  enable  him  to 

1 


2  INTRODUCTORY. 

discover  what  is  right,  neither  his  sense,  nor  conscience,  n»]-  foeling, 
are  ever  enough,  because  they  are  not  intended,  to  determ  :^  for  him 
■what  is  possible.  He  knows  neither  his  own  strength  ti  n-  that  of 
his  fellows,  neither  the  exact  dependence  to  be  placed  on  hii  allies 
nor  resistance  to  be  expected  from  his  opponents.  These  ar-  -^iiestions 
respecting  which  passion  may  warp  his  conclusions,  and  :.^ 'lorance 
must  limit  them;  but  it  is  his  own  fault  if  either  interfere  with  the 
apprehension  of  duty,  or  the  acknowledgment  of  right.  And,  as 
far  as  I  have  taken  cognizance  of  the  causes  of  the  many  f^i'iares  to 
which  the  efforts  of  intelligent  men  are  liable,  more  e£:)eeially  in 
matters  political,  they  seem  to  me  more  largely  to  spring  liom  this 
single  error  than  from  all  others,  that  the  inquiry  into  the  doubtful, 
and  in  some  sort  inexplicable,  relations  of  capabihty,  chance,  resistance, 
and  inconvenience,  invariabh'  precedes,  even  if  it  do  not  altogether 
supersede,  the  determination  of  what  is  absolutely  desirable  and  just. 
Nor  is  it  any  wonder  that  sometimes  the  too  cold  calculation  of  our 
powers  should  reconcile  us  too  easily  to  our  short  comings,  and  even 
le.-'d  us  into  the  fatal  error  of  supposing  that  our  conjectural  utmost 
is  in  itself  well,  or,  in  other  words,  that  the  necessity  of  offences 
renders  them  inoffensive. 

What  is  true  of  human  polity  seems  to  me  not  less  so  of  the 
distinctively  pohtical  ai't  of  Architecture.  I  have  long  felt  con\-inced 
of  the  necessity,  in  order  to  its  progress,  of  some  determined  effort 
to  extricate  from  the  confused  mass  of  partial  traditions  and  dogmata 
with  which  it  has  become  encumbered  during  imperfect  or  restricted 
practice,  those  large  principles  of  right  which  are  applicable  to  every 
stage  and  style  of  it.  Uniting  the  technical  and  imaginative  elements 
as  essentially  as  humanity  does  soul  and  body,  it  shows  the  same 
infti'mly  balanced  liabihty  to  the  prevalence  of  the  lower  part  over 
the  higher,  to  the  interference  of  the  constructive,  with  the  purity  and 
simphcity  of  the  reflective,  element.  This  tendency,  hke  every  other 
form  of  materiahsm,  is  increasing  with  the  advance  of  the  age ;  and 
the  only  laws  which  resist  it,  based  upon  partial  precedents,  and 
already  regarded  with  disrespect  as  decrepit,  if  not  with  defiance  as 
tyrannical,  are  evidently  inapplicable  to  the  new  forms  and  functions 
of  the  art,  which  the  necessities  of  the  day  demand.  How  many 
these  necessities  may  become,  cannot  be  conjectured ;  they  rise, 
strange  and  impatient,  out  of  every  modern  shadow  of  change.  How 
£ar  it  may  be  possible  to  meet  them  without  a  sacrifice  of  the  essential 


INTRODUCTORY.  3 

tliaracters  of  architectr! /al  art,  cannot  be  determined  by  specific 
calculation  or  observance.  There  is  no  law,  no  principle,  based  on 
past  practice,  which  may  not  be  overthrown  in  a  moment,  by  the 
arising  of  a  new  condition,  or  the  invention  of  a  new  material ;  and 
the  most  rational,  if  not  the  only,  mode  of  averting  the  danger  ol 
an  utter  dissolution  of  all  that  is  systematic  and  consistent  in  our 
practice,  or  of  ancient  authority  in  our  judgment,  is  to  cease  for  a 
httle  while,  our  endeavors  to  deal  with  the  multiplying  host  of  par- 
ticular abuses,  restraints,  or  requirements ;  and  endeavor  to  determine, 
as  the  guides  of  every  effort,  some  constant,  general,  and  irrefragable 
laws  of  right — laws,  which  based  upon  man's  nature,  not  upon  hia 
knowledge,  may  possess  so  far  the  unchangeable ness  of  the  one,  as 
that  neither  the  increase  nor  imperfection  of  the  other  may  be  abla 
to  assault  or  invalidate  them. 

There  are,  perhaps,  no  such  laws  peculiar  to  any  one  art.  Their 
range  necessarily  includes  the  entire  horizon  of  man's  action.  But 
they  have  modified  forms  and  operations  belonging  to  each  of  his 
pursuits,  and  the  extent  of  their  authority  cannot  surely  be  considered 
as  a  diminution  of  its  weight.  Those  peculiar  aspects  of  them  which 
belong  to  the  fii-st  of  the  arts,  I  have  endeavored  to  trace  in  the 
following  pages  ;  and  since,  if  truly  stated,  they  must  necessarily  be, 
not  only  safeguards  against  every  form  of  error,  but  sources  of  every 
measure  of  success,  I  do  not  think  that  I  claim  too  much  for  them 
in  calling  them  the  Lamps  of  Architecture,  nor  that  it  is  indolence, 
Ol  endeavoring  to  ascertain  the  true  nature  and  nobility  of  their  fire, 
to  refuse  to  enter  into  any  curious  or  special  questioning  of  the  innu- 
merable hindrances  by  which  their  light  has  been  too  often  distorted 
or  overpowered. 

Had  this  farther  examination  been  attempted,  the  work  would  have 
become  certainly  more  invidious,  and  perhaps  less  useful,  as  liable  to 
errors  which  are  avoided  by  the  present  simplicity  of  its  plan. 
Simple  though  it  be,  its  extent  is  too  gTeat  to  admit  of  any  adequate 
accomplishment,  unless  by  a  devotion  of  time  which  the  writer  did 
not  feel  justified  in  withdra\ving  from  branches  of  inquiry  in  which 
the  prosecution  of  works  already  undertaken  has  engaged  him. 
Both  arrangements  and  nomenclature  are  those  of  convenience  rather 
than  of  system  ;  the  one  is  arbitrary  and  the  other  illogical :  nor  is 
it  pretended  that  all,  or  even  the  greater  number  of,  the  principles 
necessary  to  the  well-being  of  the  art,  are  included  in  the  inquiry 


4  INTRODUCTORY. 

Many,  however,  of  considerable  importance  will  be  found  to  develope 
themselves  incidentally  from  those  more  specially  brought  forward. 

Graver  apology  is  necessary  for  an  apparently  graver  fault.  It  has 
been  just  said,  that  there  is  no  branch  of  human  work  whose  constant 
laws  have  not  close  analogy  with  those  which  govern  every  other 
mode  of  man's  exertion.  But,  more  than  this,  exactly  as  we  reduce 
to  greater  simplicity  and  surety  any  one  group  of  these  practical 
laws,  we  shall  find  them  passing  the  mere  condition  of  connection  or 
analog}^,  and  becoming  the  actual  expression  of  some  ultimate  nerve 
or  fibre  of  the  mighty  laws  which  govern  the  moral  world.  However 
mean  or  inconsiderable  the  act,  there  is  something  in  the  well  doing 
of  it,  which  has  fellowship  with  the  noblest  forms  of  manly  virtue ; 
and  the  truth,  decision,  and  temperance,  which  we  reverently  regard 
as  honorable  conditions  of  the  sphitual  being,  have  a  representative 
or  derivative  influence  over  the  works  of  the  hand,  the  movements 
of  the  frame,  and  the  action  of  the  intellect. 

And  as  thus  every  action,  down  even  to  the  drawing  of  a  line  or 
utterance  of  a  syllable,  is  capable  of  a  pecuhar  dignity  in  the  manner 
of  it,  which  we  sometimes  express  by  saying  it  is  truly  done  (as  a 
line  or  tone  is  true),  so  also  it  is  capable  of  dignity  still  higher  in  the 
motive  of  it.  For  there  is  no  action  so  shght,  nor  so  mean,  but  it 
may  be  done  to  a  great  purpose,  and  ennobled  therefore ;  nor  is  any 
purpose  so  great  but  that  shght  actions  may  help  it,  and  may  be  so 
done  as  to  help  it  much,  most  especially  that  chief  of  all  purposes, 
the  pleasmg  of  God.     Hence  George  Herbert — 

"  A  servant  with  this  clause 
Makes  drudgery  divine  ; 
Who  sweeps  a  room,  as  for  thy  laws. 
Makes  that  and  the  action  fine." 

Therefore,  in  the  pressing  or  recommending  of  any  act  or  manner 
of  acting,  we  have  choice  of  two  separate  lines  of  argument :  one 
based  on  representation  of  the  expediency  or  inherent  value  of  the 
work,  which  is  often  small,  and  always  disputable  ;  the  other  based 
on  proofs  of  its  relations  to  the  higher  orders  of  humau  virtue,  and 
of  its  acceptableness,  so  far  as  it  goes,  to  Him  who  is  the  origin  of 
virtue.  The  former  is  commonly  the  more  persuasive  method,  the 
latter  assuredly  the  more  conclusive  ;  only  it  is  liable  to  give  offence, 
as  if  there  were  irreverence  in  adducing  considerations  so  weighty  in 


INTRODUCTORY.  f 

treating  subjects  of  small  temporal  importance.  I  believe,  however, 
that  no  error  is  more  thoughtless  than  this.  We  treat  God  with 
irreverence  by  banishing  Him  from  our  thoughts,  not  by  referring  to 
His  will  on  slight  occasions.  His  is  not  the  finite  authority  or 
intelligence  which  cannot  be  troubled  with  small  things.  There  is 
nothing  so  small  but  that  we  may  honor  God  by  asking  His 
guidance  of  it,  or  insult  Him  by  taking  it  into  our  own  hands ;  and 
what  is  true  of  the  Deity  is  equally  true  of  His  Revelation.  We 
use  it  most  reverently  when  most  habitually  :  our  insolence  is  in 
ever  acting  without  reference  to  it,  our  true  honoring  of  it  is  in 
its  univei-sal  apphcation.  I  have  been  blamed  for  the  familiar 
introduction  of  its  sacred  words.  I  am  grieved  to  have  given  pain 
by  so  doing ;  but  my  excuse  must  be  my  wish  that  those  words 
were  made  the  ground  of  every  argument  and  the  test  of  every 
action.  We  have  them  not  often  enough  on  our  lips,  nor  deeply 
enough  in  our  memories,  nor  loyally  enough  in  our  hves.  The 
snow,  the  vapor,  and  the  stormy  wind  fulfil  His  word.  Are  our 
acts  and  thoughts  Hghter  and  wilder  than  these — that  we  should 
forget  it  ? 

I  have  therefore  ventured,  at  the  risk  of  giN'ing  to  some  passages 
the  appearance  of  irreverence,  to  take  the  higher  hue  of  argument 
wherever  it  appeared  clearly  traceable  :  and  this,  I  would  ask  the 
reader  especially  to  observe,  not  merely  because  I  think  it  the  best 
mode  of  reaching  ultimate  truth,  still  less  because  I  think  the  subject 
of  more  importance  than  many  others  ;  but  because  every  subject 
should  surely,  at  a  period  like  the  present,  be  taken  up  in  this  spirit, 
or  not  at  all.  The  aspect  of  the  years  that  approach  us  is  as  solemn 
as  it  is  full  of  mystery ;  and  the  weight  of  e\'il  against  which  we 
have  to  contend,  is  increasing  hke  the  letting  out  of  water.  It  is  no 
time  for  the  idleness  of  metaphysics,  or  the  entertmnment  of  the  arts. 
The  blasphemies  of  the  earth  are  sounding  louder,  and  its  miseries 
heaped  heavier  every  day ;  and  if,  in  the  midst  of  the  exertion  which 
every  good  man  is  called  upon  to  put  forth  for  their  repression  or 
relief,  it  is  lav\^ul  to  ask  for  a  thought,  for  a  moment,  for  a  lifting  of 
the  finger,  in  any  direction  but  that  of  the  immediate  and  over- 
whelming need,  it  is  at  least  incumbent  upon  .is  to  approach  the 
questions  in  which  we  would  engage  him,  in  the  spirit  which  has 
become  the  habit  of  his  mind,  and  in  the  hope  that  neither  his  zeal 
nor  his  usefulness  mav  be  checked  bv  the  vvithdrawal  of  an  hour 


INTRODUCTORY. 


which  has  shown  him  how  even  those  things  which  seemed  mechani- 
cal, indifferent,  or  contemptible,  depend  for  their  perfection  upon  the 
acknowledgment  of  the  sacred  principles  of  faith,  truth,  and 
obedience,  for  which  it  has  become  the  occupation  of  his  hfe  to 
contend. 


CHAPTER    I. 


THE     LAMP     OF     SACRIFICE. 


I.  Architecture  is  the  art  which  so  disposes  and  adorns  the 
edifices  raised  by  man  for  ^Yhatsoever  uses,  that  the  sight  of  them 
contribute  to  his  mental  health,  power  and  pleasure. 

It  is  very  necessary,  in  the  outset  of  all  inquiry,  to  distinguish 
carefully  between  Architecture  and  Building. 

To  build,  literally  to  confirm,  is  by  common  undei-standing  to  put 
together  and  adjust  the  several  pieces  of  any  edifice  or  receptacle  of 
a  considerable  size.  Thus  we  have  church  building,  house  building, 
ship  building,  and  coach  building.  That  one  edifice  stands,  another 
floats,  and  another  is  suspended  on  iron  springs,  makes  no  dif- 
ference in  the  nature  of  the  art,  if  so  it  may  be  called,  of  building  or 
edification.  The  persons  who  profess  that  art,  are  severally  builders, 
ecclesiastical,  naval,  or  of  whatever  other  name  their  work  may 
ustify  ;  but  building  does  not  become  architecture  merely  by  the 
stability  of  what  it  erects ;  and  it  is  no  more  architecture  which 
raises  a  church,  or  which  fits  it  to  receive  and  contain  with  comfort  a 
required  number  of  persons  occupied  in  certain  religious  offices,  than 
it  is  architecture  which  makes  a  carriage  commodious,  or  a  ship 
s>vift.  I  do  not,  of  course,  mean  that  the  word  is  not  often,  or  even 
may  not  be  legitimately,  applied  in  such  a  sense  (as  we  speak  of 
naval  architecture) ;  but  in  that  sense  architecture  ceases  to  be  one 
of  the  fine  arts,  and  it  is  therefore  better  not  to  run  the  risk,  by 
loose  nomenclature,  of  the  confusion  which  would  arise,  and  has 
often  fai^i'D,  fiom  extending  princi}>les  which  belong  altogether  to 
building,  ]iito  the  sphere  of  architecture  jiroper. 

Let  us.  therefore,  at  once  confine  the  name  to  that  art  wliich, 
taking  up  and  admitting,  as  conchtions  of  its  working,  the  necessities 
and  coimiion  uses  of  the  building,  impresses  on  its  form  certain 
chaiacter?  venerable  or  beautiful,  but  other\\Tse  unnecessary.     Thus, 


8  THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE. 

I  suppose,  no  one  would  call  the  laws  ar^  itectural  which  determin* 
the  height  of  a  breastwork  or  the  position  Df  a  bastion.  But  if  to 
the  stone  facing  of  that  bastion  be  added  an  unnecessary  feature,  as 
a  cable  moulding,  that  is  Architecture.  It  would  be  similarly 
unreasonable  to  call  battlements  or  machicolations  architect  tu*al 
features,  so  long  as  they  consist  only  of  an  advanced  gallery  sup- 
ported on  projecting  masses,  with  open  intervals  beneath  for  offence. 
But  if  these  projecting  masses  be  carved  beneath  into  roimded 
courses,  which  are  useless,  and  if  the  headings  of  the  intervals  be 
arched  and  trefoiled,  which  is  useless,  that  is  Architecture.  It  may 
not  be  always  easy  to  draw  the  line  so  sharply  and  simply ;  because 
there  are  few  buildings  which  have  not  some  pretence  or  color  of 
being  architectural ;  neither  can  there  be  any  architecture  which  is 
not  based  on  building,  nor  any  good  architecture  which  is  not 
based  on  good  building ;  but  it  is  perfectly  easy,  and  very  necessary 
to  keep  the  ideas  distinct,  and  to  understand  fully  that  Architecture 
concerns  itself  only  with  those  characters  of  an  edifice  which  ar 
above  and  beyond  its  common  use.  I  say  common;  because  a 
building  raised  to  the  honor  of  God,  or  in  memory  of  men,  has 
surely  a  use  to  which  its  architectural  adornment  fits  it ;  but  not  a 
use  which  limits,  by  any  inevitable  necessities,  its  plan  or  details. 

II.  Architecture  proper,  then,  naturally  arranges  itself  under  five 
heads : — 

Devotional;  including  all  buildings  raised  for   God's  service  or 
honor. 

Memorial ;  including  both  monuments  and  tombs. 

Civil ;  including  every  edifice  raised  by  nations  or  societies,  for 
piu-poses  of  common  business  or  pleasure. 

Military;    including    all     private    and    pubhc    architecture   of 
defence. 

Domestic  ;  including  every  rank  and  kind  of  dwelling-place. 
Now,  of  the  principles  which  I  would  endeavor  to  develope,  while 
all  must  be,  as  I  have  said,  apphcable  to  every  stage  and  style  of 
the  art,  some,  and  especially  those  which  are  exciting  rather  than 
directing,  have  necessarily  fuller  reference  to  one  kind  of  building 
than  another ;  and  among  these  I  would  place  first  that  spirit 
which,  having  influence  in  all,  has  nevertheless  such  especial 
reference  to  devotional  and  memorial  architecture — the  spirit  which 
oflfers  for  such  work  precious  things,  simply  because  they  ire  precious ; 


THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE.  0 

not  as  being  necessary  /,o  the  building,  but  as  an  oflfering,  surrender- 
ing, and  sacritice  of  what  is  to  oui^selves  desirable.  It  seems  to  me, 
not  only  that  this  feeling  is  in  most  cases  wholly  wanting  in  those 
who  forward  the  devotional  buildings  of  the  present  day  ;  but  that 
it  would  even  be  regarded  as  an  ignorant,  dangerous,  or  perhaps 
criminal  principle  by  many  among  us.  I  have  not  space  to  enter 
into  dispute  of  all  the  various  objections  which  may  be  urged  against 
it — they  are  many  and  specious  ;  but  I  may,  perhaps,  ask  the 
reader's  patience  while  I  set  down  those  simple  reasons  which  cause 
me  to  bcheve  it  a  good  and  just  feeling,  and  as  well-pleasing  to  God 
and  honorable  in  men,  as  it  is  beyond  all  dispute  necessary  to  the 
production  of  any  great  work  in  the  kind  with  which  we  are  at 
present  concerned. 

lU.  Now,  first,  to  define  this  Lamp,  or  Spirit  of  Sacrifice,  clearly. 
I  have  said  that  it  prompts  us  to  the  offering  of  precious  things, 
merely  because  they  are  precious,  not  because  they  are  useful  or 
necessary.  It  is  a  spirit,  for  instance,  which  of  two  marbles,  equally 
beautiful,  apphcable  and  durable,  would  choose  the  more  costly, 
because  it  was  so,  and  of  two  kinds  of  decoration,  equally  effective, 
would  choose  the  more  elaborate  because  it  was  so,  in  order  that  it 
might  in  the  same  compass  present  more  cost  and  more  thought. 
It  is  therefore  most  unreasoning  and  enthusiastic,  and  perhaps  best 
negatively  defined,  as  the  opposite  of  the  prevalent  feeling  of 
modern  times,  which  desires  to  produce  the  largest  results  at  the 
least  cost. 

Of  this  feeling,  then,  there  are  two  distinct  forms :  the  fii-st,  the 
wish  to  exercise  self-denial  for  the  sake  of  self-discipline  merely, 
a  wish  acted  upon  in  the  abandonment  of  things  loved  or  desired, 
there  being  no  direct  call  or  purpose  to  be  answered  by  so*  doing ; 
and  the  second,  the  desire  to  honor  or  please  some  one  else  by  the 
costhness  of  the  sacrifice.  The  practice  is,  in  the  fii-st  case,  either 
private  or  public ;  but  most  frequently,  and  perhaps  most  properly, 
private  ;  while,  in  the  latter  case,  the  act  is  commonly,  and  with 
greatest  advantage,  public.  Now,  it  cannot  but  at  first  appear 
futile  to  assert  the  expediency  of  self-dr-^iai  for  its  own  sake,  when, 
for  so  many  sakes,  it  is  every  day  necessary  to  a  for  greater  degree 
than  any  of  us  practise  it.  But  I  believe  it  is  just  because  we  do 
not  enough  acknowledge  or  contemplate  it  as  a  good  in  itself  that 
we  are  apt  to  fail  in  its  duties  when  they  become  imperative,  and  to 

1* 


10  THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE. 

calculate,  with  some  partiality,  whether  the  good  proposed  to 
others  measures  or  warrants  the  amount  of  grievance  to  ourselves, 
instead  of  accepting  with  gladness  the  opportunity  of  sacrifice  as  a 
personal  advantage.  Be  this  as  it  may,  it  is  not  necessary  to  insist 
upon  the  matter  here  ;  since  there  are  always  higher  and  mora 
useful  channels  of  self-sacrifice,  for  those  who  choose  to  practise  it, 
than  any  connected  with  the  arts. 

^Tiile  in  its  second  branch,  that  which  is  especially  concerned 
with  the  arts,  the  justice  of  the  feeling  is  still  more  doubtful ;  it 
depends  on  our  answer  to  the  broad  question,  can  the  Deity  be 
indeed  honored  by  the  presentation  to  Him  of  any  material  objects 
of  value,  or  by  any  direction  of  zeal  or  wisdom  which  is  not  im- 
mediately beneficial  to  men  ? 

For,  observe,  it  is  not  now  the  question  whether  the  fairness  and 
majesty  of  a  building  may  or  may  not  answer  any  moral  purpose ; 
it  is  not  the  result  of  labor  in  any  sort  of  which  we  are  speaking, 
but  the  bare  and  mere  costliness — the  substance  and  labor  and  time 
themselves  :  are  these,  we  ask,  independently  of  their  result,  accept- 
able offerings  to  God,  and  considered  by  Him  as  doing  Him  honor  ? 
So  long  as  we  refer  this  question  to  the  decision  of  feehng,  or  of 
conscience,  or  of  reason  merely,  it  will  be  contradictorily  or  imper- 
fectly answered ;  it  admits  of  entire  answer  only  when  we  have  met 
another  and  a  far  different  question,  whether  the  Bible  be  indeed 
one  book  or  two,  and  whether  the  character  of  God  revealed  in  the 
Old  Testament  be  other  than  His  character  revealed  in  the  New. 

IV.  Now,  it  is  a  most  secure  truth,  that,  although  the  particular 
ordinances  di\anely  appointed  for  special  purposes  at  any  given  period 
of  man's  history,  may  be  by  the  same  divine  authority  abrogated  at 
another,  it  is  impossible  that  any  character  of  God,  appealed  to  or 
described  in  any  ordinance  past  or  present,  can  ever  be  changed,  or 
understood  as  changed,  by  the  abrogation  of  that  ordinance.  God 
is  one  and  the  same,  and  is  pleased  or  displeased  by  the  same  things 
for  ever,  although  one  part  of  His  pleasure  may  be  expressed  at  one 
time  rather  than  anoJ'^r,  and  althouo-h  the  mode  in  which  His  plea- 
sure is  to  be  consulted  may  be  by  Him  graciously  modified  to  the 
circumstances  of  men.  Thus,  for  instance,  it  was  necessary  that,  in 
order  to  the  understanding  by  man  of  the  scheme  of  Redemption, 
that  scheme  should  be  foreshown  from  the  beginning  by  the  t}^e  of 
bloody  sacrifice.     But  God  had  no  more  pleasure  in  such  sacrifice  in 


THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE.  H 

the  time  of  Moses  tlian  he  has  now ;  He  never  accepted  as  a  propi- 
tiation for  sin  any  sacrifice  but  the  single  one  in  prospective  ;  aud 
that  we  may  not  entertain  any  shadow  of  doubt  on  this  subject,  the 
worthlessness  of  all  other  sacrifice  than  this  is  proclaimed  at  the  very 
time  when  typical  sacrifice  was  most  imperatively  demanded.  God 
was  a  spirit,  and  could  be  woi'shipped  only  in  spirit  and  in  truth,  as 
singly  and  exclusively  when  every  day  brought  its  claim  of  typical 
and  material  service  or  offering,  as  now  when  He  asks  for  none  but 
that  of  tlie  heart. 

So,  therefore,  it  is  a  most  safe  and  sure  principle  that,  if  in  the 
manner  of  performing  any  rite  at  any  time,  circumstances  can  be 
traced  wliich  v>  3  are  either  told,  or  may  legitimately  conclude,  2)l€as€d 
God  at  that  time,  those  same  circumstances  will  please  Him  at  all 
dmes,  in  the  performance  of  all  rites  or  offices  to  which  they  may  be 
attached  in  u-ie  manner;  unless  it  has  been  afterwards  revealed 
that,  for  some  special  purpose,  it  is  now  His  will  that  such  circum- 
stances shouid  be  withdra^vn.  And  this  argument  will  have  all  the 
more  force  it'  . "  can  be  shown  that  such  conditions  were  not  essential 
to  the  compl-^ioness  of  the  rite  in  its  human  uses  and  bearings,  and 
only  were  ad  lod  to  it  as  being  in  themselves  pleasing  to  God. 

V.  Now,  was  it  necessary  to  the  completeness,  as  a  type,  of  the 
Levitical  sacrifice,  or  to  its  utihty  as  an  explanation  of  divine  pur- 
poses, that  it  should  cost  anything  to  the  person  in  whose  behalf  it 
was  offered?  On  the  contrary,  the  sacrifice  which  it  foreshowed, 
was  to  be  God's  free  gift ;  and  the  cost  of,  or  difficulty  of  obtaining, 
the  sacrificial  tjrpe,  could  only  render  that  t}^e  in  a  measure  obscure, 
and  less  expressive  of  the  offering  which  God  would  in  the  end  pro- 
vide for  all  men.  Yet  this  costliness  was  generally  a  condition  of  the 
acceptableness  of  the  sacrifice.  "  Neither  will  I  offer  unto  the  Lord 
my  God  of  that  which  doth  cost  me  nothing."*  That  costhness, 
therefore,  must  be  an  acceptable  condition  in  all  human  offerings  at 
all  times ;  for  if  it  was  pleasing  to  God  once,  it  must  please  Him 
always,  unless  directly  forbidden  by  Him  afterwards,  which  it  has 
never  been.  • 

Again,  was  it  necessary  to  the  t}']->ical  perfection  of  the  Le^^tical 
offering,  that  it  should  be  the  best  of  the  flock  ?  Doubtless  the 
spotlessness  of  the  sacrifice  renders  it  more  expressive  to  the  Chris- 

«  2  Sam.  xxiv.  24.     Deut.  xvi.  16,  17. 


12  THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE. 

tian  mind  ;  but  was  it  because  so  expressive  that  it  was  actually,  and 
in  so  many  words,  demanded  by  God  ?  Not  at  all.  It  waa 
demanded  by  Him  expressly  on  the  same  grounds  on  which  an 
eai'thly  governor  would  demand  it,  as  a  testimony  of  respect.  "  Offer 
it  now  unto  thy  governor."*  And  the  less  valuable  offering  was 
rejected,  not  because  it  did  not  image  Christ,  nor  fulfil  the  purposes 
of  sacrifice,  but  because  it  indicated  a'feeUng  that  would  grudge  the 
best  of  its  possessions  to  Him  who  gave  them ;  and  because  it  was 
a  bold  dishonoring  of  God  in  the  sight  of  man.  "Whence  it  may  be 
infalhbly  concluded,  that  in  whatever  offerings  we  may  now  see  rea- 
son to  present  unto  God  (I  say  not  what  these  may  be),  a  condition 
of  their  acceptableness  will  be  now,  as  it  was  then,  that  they  should 
be  the  best  of  their  kind. 

VI.  But  farther,  was  it  necessary  to  the  carrying  out  of  the 
Mosaical  system,  that  there  should  be  either  art  or  splendor  in  the 
form  or  ser\dces  of  the  tabernacle  or  temple  ?  Was  it  necessary  to 
the  perfection  of  any  one  of  their  typical  offices,  that  there  should  be 
that  hanging  of  blue,  and  purple,  and  scarlet  ?  those  taches  of  brass 
and  sockets  of  silver  ?  that  working  in  cedar  and  overlaying  with 
gold  ?  One  thing  at  least  is  e\'ident :  there  was  a  deep  and  awful 
danger  in' it;  a  danger  that  the  God  whom  they  so  worshipped, 
might  be  associated  in  the  minds  of  the  serfe  of  Egypt  with  the  gods 
to  whom  they  had  seen  similar  gifts  offered  and  similar  honors 
paid.  The  probability,  in  our  times,  of  fellowship  with  the  feelings 
of  the  idolatrous  Romanist  is  absolutely  as  nothing  compared  with 
the  danger  to  the  Israehte  of  a  sympathy  with  the  idolatrous  Eg}^- 
tian  ;^  no  speculative,  no  unproved  danger ;  but  proved  fatally  by 
their  fall  during  a  month's  abandonment  to  their  own  will ;  a  fall 
into  the  most  servile  idolatry ;  yet  marked  by  such  offerings  to  their 
idol  as  their  leader  was,  in  the  close  sequel,  instructed  to  bid  them 
offer  to  God.  This  danger  was  imminent,  perpetual,  and  of  the  most 
awful  kind :  it  was  the  one  against  which  God  made  provision,  not 
only  by  commandments,  by  threatenings,  by  promises,  the  most 
urgent,  repeated,  and  impressive ;  but  by  temporary  ordinances  of  a 
severity  so  terrible  as  almost  to  dim  for  a  time,  in  the  eyes  of  His 
people,  His  attribute  of  mercy.  The  principal  object  of  every  insti- 
tuted law  of  that  Theocracy,  of  every  judgment  sent  forth  in  iU 

*  Mai.  i.  8. 


THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE.  18 

vindication,  was  to  mark  to  tlie  people  His  hatred  of  idolatry ;  a 
hatred  written  under  their  advancing  steps,  in  the  blood  of  the  Ca- 
naanite,  and  more  sternly  still  in  the  darkness  of  their  own  desolation, 
when  the  children  and  the  sucklings  swooned  in  the  streets  of  Jeru- 
salem, and  the  lion  tracked  his  prey  in  the  dust  of  Samaria.*  Yet 
against  this  mortal  danger  provision  was  not  made  in  one  way  (to 
man's  thoughts  the  simplest,  the  most  natural,  the  most  effective),  by 
withdrawing  from  the  worship  of  the  Divine  Being  whatever  could 
delight  the  sense,  or  shape  the  imagination,  or  limit  the  idea  of 
Deity  to  place.  This  one  way  God  refused,  demanding  for  himself 
such  honors,  and  accepting  for  Himself  such  local  dwelling,  as  had 
been  paid  and  dedicated  to  idol  gods  by  heathen  worshippers  ;  and 
for  what  reason  ?  Was  the  glory  of  the  tabernacle  necessary  to  set 
forth  or  image  his  divine  glory  to  the  minds  of  His  people  ?  What ! 
purple  or  scarlet  necessary  to  the  people  who  had  seen  the  great  river 
of  Egypt  run  scarlet  to  the  sea,  under  His  condemnation  ?  AVliat ! 
golden  lamp  and  cherub  necessary  for  those  who  had  seen  the  fires 
of  heaven  falling  hke  a  mantle  on  Mount  Sinai,  and  its  golden 
courts  opened  to  receive  their  mortal  lawgiver  ?  What !  silver  clasp 
and  fillet  necessary  when  they  had  seen  the  silver  waves  of  the  Red 
Sea  clasp  in  their  arched  hollows  the  corpses  of  the  horse  and  his 
rider  ?  Nay — not  so.  There  was  but  one  reason,  and  that  an  eter- 
nal one  ;  that  as  the  covenant  that  He  made  with  men  was  accom- 
panied with  some  external  sign  of  its  continuance,  and  of  His 
remembrance  of  it,  so  the  acceptance  of  that  covenant  might  be 
mai-ked  and  signified  by  use,  in  some  external  sign  of  their  love  and 
obedience,  and  surrender  of  themselves  and  theirs  to  His  will ;  and 
that  their  gi-atitude  to  Him,  and  continual  remembrance  of  Him, 
might  have  at  once  their  expression  and  their  enduring  testimony  in 
the  presentation  to  Him,  not  only  of  the  firstlings  of  the  herd  and 
fold,  not  only  of  the  fruits  of  the  earth  and  the  tithe  of  time,  but  of 
all  treasures  of  wisdom  and  beauty  ;  of  the  thought  that  invents,  and 
the  hand  that  labore ;  of  wealth  of  wood,  and  weight  of  stone ;  of 
the  strength  of  iron,  and  of  the  light  of  gold. 

And  let  us  not  now  lose  sight  of  this  broad  and  unabrogated 
principle — I  might  say,  incapable  of  being  abrogated,  so  long  as 
men  shall  receive  eiirthly  gifts  from  God.     Of  all  that  they  have  his 

•  Lam.  ii.  11.     2  Kings,  xvii.  25. 


14  THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE. 

tithe  mi:st  be  rendered  to  Him,  or  in  so  far  and  in  so  much  He  ig 
forgotten  :  of  the  skill  and  of  the  treasure,  of  the  strengrli  and  of 
the  mind,  of  the  time  and  of  the  toil,  offering  must  be  made  reve- 
rently ;  and  if  there  be  any  difference  between  the  Levitical  and  the 
Christian  offering,  it  is  that  the  latter  may  be  just  so  much  the  wider 
in  its  range  as  it  is  less  typical  in  its  meaning,  as  it  is  thankful  instead 
of  sacrificial.  There  can  be  no  excuse  accepted  because  the  Deity 
does  not  now  visibly  dwell  in  His  temple  ;  if  He  is  in\'isible  it  is 
only  through  our  failing  faith  :  nor  any  excuse  because  uth<n'  calls 
are  more  immediate  or  more  sacred  ;  this  ought  to  be  don-r.  and  not 
the  other  left  undone.  Yet  this  objection,  as  frequent  as  fc'  Lie,  must 
be  more  specifically  answered. 

Vn.  It  has  been  said — it  ought  always  to  be  said,  for  it  is  true — • 
that  a  better  and  more  honorable  offering  is  made  to  oui'  Master  in 
ministry  to  the  poor,  in  extending  the  knowledge  of  Hi^  name,  in 
the  practice  of  the  virtues  by  which  that  name  is  hallow'  d,  than  in 
material  presents  to  His  temple.  Assuredly  it  is  so  :  woe  to  all  who 
think  that  any  other  kind  or  manner  of  offering  may  in  any  wise 
take  the  place  of  these  !  Do  the  people  need  place  to  pray,  and 
calls  to  hear  His  word  ?  Then  it  is  no  time  for  smoothing;'  pillars  or 
carvdng  pulpits  ;  let  us  have  enough  first  of  walls  and  rools.  Do  the 
people  need  teaching  from  house  to  house,  and  bread  from  day 
to  day  ?  Then  they  are  deacons  and  ministers  we  want,  not  architects. 
I  insist  on  this,  I  plead  for  this  ;  but  let  us  examine  ourselves,  and 
see  if  this  be  indeed  the  reason  for  our  backwardness  in  the  lesser 
work.  The  question  is  not  between  God's  house  and  His  poor :  it 
is  not  between  God's  house  and  His  Gospel.  It  is  between  God's 
house  and  ours.  Have  we  no  tesselated  colors  on  our  floors  ?  no 
frescoed  fancies  on  our  roofs  ?  no  niched  statuary  in  our  com  dors  ? 
no  gilded  furniture  in  our  chambers  ?  no  costly  stones  in  our  cabinets  ? 
Has  even  the  tithe  of  these  been  offered  ?  They  are,  or  they  ought 
to  be,  the  signs  that  enough  has  been  devoted  to  the  great  purposes 
of  human  stewardship,  and  that  there  remains  to  us  what  we  can 
spend  in  luxury  ;  but  there  is  a  greater  and  prouder  luxury  than  this 
selfish  one — that  of  bringing  a  portion  of  such  thing-s  as  these  into 
sacred  ser\ice,  and  presenting  them  for  a  memorial*  that  our 
pleasure  as  well  as  our  toil  has  been  hallowed  by  the  remembrance 

•  Num.  xxzi.  54.     Psa.  Ixxvi.  11. 


THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE.  15 

of  Ilim  who  gave  bot'i  the  strength  and  the  reward.  And  until 
this  has  been  done,  I  do  not  see  how  such  possessions  can  be  retained 
in  happiness.  I  do  not  understand  the  feehng  which  would  arch 
our  own  gates  and  pave  our  own  thresholds,  and  leave  the  church 
with  its  narrow  door  and  foot- worn  sill ;  the  feeling  which  enriches 
our  own  chambers  with  all  manner  of  costliness,  and  endures  the  bare 
wall  and  mean  compass  of  the  temple.  There  is  seldom  even  so 
severe  a  choice  to  be  made,  seldom  so  much  self-denial  to  be  exercised. 
There  are  isolated  cases,  in  which  men's  happiness  and  mental  activity 
depend  upon  a  certain  degree  of  luxury  in  their  houses ;  but  then 
this  is  true  luxury,  felt  and  tasted,  and  profited  by.  In  the  plurality 
of  instances  notliing  of  the  kind  is  attempted,  nor  can  be  enjoyed ; 
men's  average  resources  cannot  reach  it ;  and  that  which  they  can 
reach,  gives  them  no  pleasure,  and  might  be  spared.  It  will  be  seen, 
in  the  course  of  the  following  chaptei-s,  that  I  am  no  advocate  for 
meanness  of  private  habitation.  I  would  fain  introduce  into  it  all 
magnificence,  care,  and  beauty,  where  they  are  possible  ;  but  I  would 
not  have  that  useless  expense  in  unnoticed  fineries  or  formalities ; 
cornicings  of  ceilings  and  graining  of  doors,  and  fringing  of  curtains, 
and  thousands  such ;  things  which  have  become  foolishly  and 
apathetically  habitual — things  on  whose  common  apphance  hang 
whole  trades,  to  which  there  never  yet  belonged  the  blessing  of 
gi\ing  one  ray  of  real  pleasure,  or  becoming  of  the  remotest  or  most 
contemptible  use — things  which  cause  half  the  expense  of  life,  and 
destroy  more  than  half  its  comfort,  manliness,  respectability,  freshness, 
and  facihty.  I  speak  from  experience  :  I  know  what  it  is  to  hve  in 
a  cottage  with  a  deal  floor  and  roof,  and  a  hearth  of  mica  slate ;  and 
I  know  it  to  be  in  many  respects  healthier  and  happier  than  living 
between  a  Turkey  carpet  and  gilded  ceiling,  beside  a  steel  grate  and 
polished  fender.  I  do  not  say  that  such  things  have  not  their  place 
and  propriety ;  but  I  say  this,  emphatically,  that  the  tenth  part  of 
the  expense  which  is  sacrificed  in  domestic  vanities,  if  not  absolutely 
and  meaninglessly  lost  in  domestic  discomforts  and  incumbrances, 
would,  if  collectively  ofl:ered  and  wisely  employed,  build  a  marble 
church  for  every  town  in  England  ;  such  a  church  as  it  should  be  a 
joy  and  a  blessing  even  to  pass  near  in  our  daily  ways  and  walks, 
and  as  it  would  bring  the  light  into  the  eyes  to  see  from  afar,  hfting 
its  fair  height  above  the  purple  crowd  of  humble  roofs. 

VIII.  I  have  said  for  every  town  :  I  do  not  want  a  marble  church 


16  THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE. 

for  every  village  ;  nay,  I  do  not  want  marble  churches  at  all  for  their 
own  sake,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  spirit  that  would  build  them.  The 
church  has  no  need  of  any  visible  splendors ;  her  power  is  inde- 
pendent of  them,  her  purity  is  in  some  degree  opposed  to  them. 
The  simphcity  of  a  pastoral  sanctuary  is  loveher  than  the  majesty  of 
an  urban  temple  ;  and  it  may  be  more  than  questioned  whether,  to 
the  people,  such  majesty  has  ever  been  the  source  of  any  increase 
of  effective  piety ;  but  to  the  builders  it  has  been,  and  must  ever  be. 
It  is  not  the  church  we  want,  but  the  sacrifice  ;  not  the  emotion  of 
admiration,  but  the  act  of  adoration ;  not  the  gift,  but  the  gi\4ng.^ 
And  see  how  much  more  charity  the  full  understanding  of  this  might 
admit,  among  classes  of  men  of  naturally  opposite  feelings  ;  and  how. 
much  more  nobleness  in  the  work.  There  is  no  need  to  offend  by 
importunate,  self-proclaiming  splendor.  Your  gift  may  be  given  in 
an  un presuming  way.  Cut  one  or  two  shafts  out  of  a  porphyry 
whose  preciousness  those  only  would  know  who  would  desire  it  to  be 
so  used ;  add  another  month's  labor  to  the  under-cutting  of  a  few 
capitals,  whose  dehcacy  will  not  be  seen  nor  loved  by  one  beholder 
of  ten  thousand  ;  see  that  the  simplest  masonry  of  the  edifice  be 
perfect  and  substantial ;  and  to  those  who  regard  such  thing-s,  their 
"witness  will  be  clear  and  impressive  ;  to  those  who  regard  them  not, 
all  wiW  at  least  be  inoffensive.  But  do  not  think  the  feehng  itself  a 
folly,  or  the  act  itself  useless.  Of  what  use  was  that  dearly  bought 
water  of  the  well  of  Bethlehem  with  which  the  King  of  Israel  slaked 
the  dust  of  Adullum  I  yet  was  not  thus  better  than  if  he  had  drunk 
it  ?  Of  what  use  was  that  passionate  act  of  Christian  sacrifice, 
against  which,  first  uttered  by  the  false  tongue,  the  very  objection  we 
would  now  conquer  took  a  sullen  tone  for  ever  ?*  So  also  let  us 
not  ask  of  what  use  our  offering  is  to  the  church :  it  is  at  least  better 
for  us  than  if  it  had  been  retained  for  ourselves.  It  may  be  better 
for  others  also :  there  is,  at  any  rate,  a  chance  of  this ;  though  we 
must  always  fearfully  and  widely  shun  the  thought  that  the  magnifi- 
cence of  the  temple  can  materially  add  to  the  efficiency  of  the 
worship  or  to  the  power  of  the  ministiy.  Whatever  we  do,  or 
whatever  we  offer,  let  it  not  interfere  with  the  simplicity  of  the  one, 
or  abate,  as  if  replacing,  the  zeal  of  the  other.  That  is  the  abuse 
and  fallacy  of  Romanism,  by  which  the  true  spirit  of  Christiiin 

*  John  xii.  5 


THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE.  H 

offering  is  directly  contradicted.  The  treatment  of  the  Papists 
temple  is  eminently  exhibitory ;  it  is  surface  work  throughout ;  and 
the  danger  and  e\-il  of  their  church  decoration  lie,  not  in  its  reality — • 
not  in  the  true  wealth  and  art  of  it,  of  which  the  lower  people  are 
never  cognizant — but  in  its  tinsel  and  glitter,  in  the  gilding  of  the 
sKrine  and  painting  of  the  image,  in  embroidery  of  dingy  robes  and 
crowding  of  imitated  gems  ;  all  this  being  frequently  thrust  forward 
to  the  concealment  of  what  is  really  good  or  great  in  their  buildings.' 
Of  an  offering  of  gratitude  which  is  neither  to  be  exhibited  nor 
rewarded,  which  is  neither  to  vnn  praise  nor  purchase  salvation,  the 
Romanist  (as  such)  has  no  conception. 

IX.  While,  however,  I  would  especially  deprecate  the  imputation 
of  any  other  acceptableness  or  usefulness  to  the  gift  itself  than  that 
which  it  receives  from  the  spirit  of  its  presentation,  it  may  be  well  to 
observe,  that  there  is  a  lower  advantage  wliich  never  fails  to 
accompany  a  dutiful  observance  of  any  right  abstract  principle. 
While  the  first  fruits  of  his  possessions  were  required  from  the 
Israelite  as  a  testimony  of  fidehty,  the  payment  of  those  first  fruits 
was  nevertheless  rewarded,  and  that  connectedly  and  specifically,  by 
the  increase  of  those  possessions.  Wealth,  and  length  of  days,  and 
peace,  were  the  promised  and  experienced  rewards  of  his  offering, 
though  they  were  not  to  be  the  objects  of  it.  The  tithe  paid  into 
the  storehouse,  was  the  express  condition  of  the  blessing  which  there 
should  not  be  room  enough  to  receive.  And  it  will  be  thus  always  : 
God  never  forgets  any  work  or  labor  of  love  ;  and  whatever  it  may 
be  of  which  the  first  and  best  portions  or  powers  have  been  presented 
to  Him,  he  will  multiply  and  increase  sevenfold.  Therefore,  though 
it  may  not  be  necessarily  the  interest  of  religion  to  admit  the  serMice 
of  the  arts,  the  arts  \vill  never  flourish  until  they  have  been  primarily 
devoted  to  that  serWce — devoted,  both  by  architect  and  employer ;  by 
the  one  in  scrupulous,  earnest,  affectionate  design ;  by  the  other  in 
expenditure  at  least  more  frank,  at  least  less  calculating,  than  that 
which  he  would  admit  in  the  indulgence  of  his  own  private  feelings. 
Let  this  principle  be  but  once  fairly  acknowledged  among  us  ;  and 
however  it  may  be  chilled  and  repressed  in  practice,  however  feeble 
may  be  its  real  influence,  however  the  sacredness  of  it  may  ba 
diminished  by  counter-workings  of  vanity  and  self-interest,  yet  its 
mere  acknowledgment  would  bring  a  reward ;  and  with  our  present 
accumulation  of  means  and  of  intellect,  there  would  be  such  an 


18  THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE. 

impulse  and  vitality  given  to  art  as  it  has  not  felt  since  the  thirteenth 
century.  And  I  do  not  assert  this  as  other  than  a  natural  conse- 
quence :  I  should,  indeed,  expect  a  larger  measure  of  every  greaj 
and  spiritual  faculty  to  be  always  given  where  those  faculties  had 
been  wisely  and  religiously  employed ;  but  the  impulse  to  which  I 
refer,  would  be,  humanly  speaking,  certain  ;  and  would  naturally 
result  from  obedience  to  the  two  great  conditions  enforced  by  the 
Spirit  of  Sacrifice,  first,  that  we  should  in  everything  do  our  best ; 
and,  secondly,  that  we  should  consider  increase  of  apparent  labor  as 
an  increase  of  beauty  in  the  building.  A  few  practical  deductions 
from  these  two  conditions,  and  I  have  done. 

X.  For  the  first :  it  is  alone  c  ^ugh  to  secure  success,  and  it  is 
for  want  of  observing  it  that  we  continually  fail.  We  are  none  of 
us  so  good  architects  as  to  be  able  to  work  habitually  beneath  our 
strength  ;  and  yet  there  is  not  a  building  that  I  know  of,  lately 
raised,  wherein  it  is  not  sufficiently  eWdent  that  neither  architect 
nor  builder  has  done  his  best.  It  is  the  especial  characteristic  of 
modern  work.  All  old  work  nearly  has  been  hard  work.  It  may 
be  the  hard  work  of  children,  of  barbarians,  of  rustics  ;  but  it  is 
always  their  utmost.  Ours  has  as  constantly  the  look  of  money's 
worth,  of  a  stopping  short  wherever  and  whenever  we  can,  of  a  lazy 
compliance  with  low  conditions  ;  never  of  a  fair  putting  forth  of  our 
streno-th.  Let  us  have  done  with  this  kind  of  work  at  once  :  cast 
off  every  temptation  to  it :  do  not  let  us  degrade  ourselves  volun- 
tarily, and  then  mutter  and  mourn  over  our  short  comings  ;  let  us 
confess  our  poverty  or  our  parsimony,  but  not  behe  our  human 
intellect.  It  is  not  even  a  question  of  how  much  we  are  to  do,  but 
of  how  it  is  to  be  done  ;  it  is  not  a  question  of  doing  more,  but  of 
doino-  better.  Do  not  let  us  boss  our  roofe  with  wi-etched,  half- 
worked,  blunt-edged  rosettes ;  do  not  let  us  flank  our  gates  with 
rioid  imitations  of  mediaeval  statuary.  Such  thing-s  ai'  mere  insults 
to  common  sense,  and  only  unfit  us  for  feeling  the  n  biiity  of  their 
prototypes.  We  have  so  much,  suppose,  to  be  spent  m  kcoratiou  ; 
let  us  go  to  the  Flaxman  of  his  time,  whoever  he  ma  v  be,  and  bid 
him  carve  for  us  a  single  statue,  frieze  or  capital,  or  r  many  as  we 
can  afford,  compelling  upon  him  the  one  condition,  'Lv  t  they  Ehall 
be  the  best  he  can  do  ;  place  them  where  they  will  be  <-  most  value, 
find  be  content.  Our  other  capitals  may  be  mere  blocks,  and  oiu  other 
niches  empty.     No  matter :  better  our  work  unfinished  than  all  bad. 


THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE.  19 

It  may  be  that  we  do  not  desire  ornament  of  so  high  an  order : 
choose,  then,  a  less  developed  style,  also,  if  you  will,  rougher 
material ;  the  law  which  we  are  enforcing  requires  only  that  what 
we  pretend  to  do  and  to  give,  shall  both  be  the  best  of  their  kind  ; 
choose,  therefore,  the  Norman  hatchet  work,  instead  of  the  Flaxman 
frieze  and  statue,  but  let  it  be  the  best  hatchet  work ;  and  if  you 
cannot  afford  marble,  use  Caen  stone,  but  from  the  best  bed  ;  and  if 
not  stone,  brick,  but  the  best  brick  ;  preferring  always  what  is  good  of  a 
lower  order  of  work  or  material,  to  what  is  bad  of  a  higher ;  for  this 
is  not  only  the  way  to  improve  every  kind  of  work,  and  to  put 
every  kind  of  material  to  better  use ;  but  it  is  more  honest  and 
unpretending,  and  is  in  harmony  with  other  just,  upright,  and 
manly  principles,  whose  range  we  shall  have  presently  to  take  into 
consideration. 

XL  The  other  condition  which  we  had  to  notice,  was  the  value 
of  the  appearance  of  labor  upon  architecture.  I  have  spoken  of 
this  before  ;"*  and  it  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  most  frequent  sources  of 
pleasure  which  belong  to  the  art,  always,  however,  within  certain 
somewhat  remarkable  limits.  For  it  does  not  at  first  appear  easily 
to  be  explained  why  labor,  as  represented  by  materials  of  value, 
should,  without  sense  of  wrong  or  error,  bear  being  wasted  ;  while 
the  waste  of  actual  workmanship  is  always  painful,  so  soon  as  it  is 
apparent.  But  so  it  is,  that,  while  precious  materials  may,  vrith  a 
certain  [)rofu6ion  and  negligence,  be  employed  for  the  magnificence 
of  what  is  seldom  seen,  the  work  of  man  cannot  be  carelessly  and 
idly  bestowed,  without  an  immechate  sense  of  wTong ;  as  if  the 
strength  of  the  living  creature  were  never  intended  by  its  Maker  to 
be  sacrificed  in  vain,  though  it  is  well  for  us  sometimes  to  part  with 
what  we  esteem  precious  of  substance,  as  showing  that  in  such 
a  serdce  it  becomes  but  dross  and  dust.  And  in  the  nice  balance 
between  the  straitening  of  eftbrt  or  enthusiasm  on  the  one  hand,  and 
vainly  casting  it  away  upon  the  other,  there  are  more  questions 
than  can  be  met  by  any  but  very  just  and  watchful  feeling.  In 
general  it  is  less  the  mere  loss  of  labor  that  offends  us,  than  the 
lack  of  judgment  implied  by  such  loss  ;  so  that  if  men  confessedly 
work  for  work's  sake,  and  it  does  not  appear  that  they  are  ignorant 
where  or  how  to  make  their  labor  tell,  we  shall  not  be  grossly 

•  Mod.  Painters,  Part  I.  Sec.  1.  Chap.  3. 


20  THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE. 

offended.  On  the  contrary,  we  shall  be  pleased  if  the  work  be  los\ 
in  carrying  out  a  principle,  or  in  avoiding  a  deception.  It,  indeed, 
is  a  law  properly  belonging  to  another  part  of  our  subject,  but  it 
may  be  allowably  stated  here,  that,  whenever,  by  the  construction 
of  a  building,  some  parts  of  it  are  hidden  from  the  eye  wliich  are 
the  continuation  of  others  bearing  some  consistent  ornament,  it 
is  not  well  that  the  ornament  should  cease  in  the  parts  con 
cealed  ;  credit  is  given  for  it,  and  it  should  not  be  deceptively 
withdrawn  :  as,  for  instance,  in  the  sculpture  of  the  backs  of  the 
statues  of  a  temple  pediment ;  never,  perhaps,  to  be  seen,  but  yet 
not  lawfully  to  be  left  unfinished.  And  so  in  the  working  out  of 
ornaments  in  dark  concealed  places,  in  which  it  is  best  to  err  on  the 
side  of  completion ;  and  in  the  caiTj^ng  round  of  string  courses,  and 
other  such  continuous  work ;  not  but  that  they  may  stop  sometimes, 
on  the  point  of  going  into  some  palpably  impenetrable  recess,  but 
then  let  them  stop  boldly  and  markedly,  on  some  distinct  terminal 
ornament,  and  never  be  supposed  to  exist  where  they  do  not.  The 
arches  of  the  towers  which  flank  the  transepts  of  Rouen  Cathedral 
have  rosette  ornaments  on  their  spandrils,  on  the  three  \isible  sides  ; 
none  on  the  side  towards  the  roof.  The  right  of  this  is  rather  a 
nice  point  for  question. 

XII.  Visibihty,  however,  we  must  remember,  depends,  not  only 
on  situation,  but  on  distance  ;  and  there  is  no  way  in  which  work  is 
more  painfully  and  unwisely  lost  than  in  its  over  delicacy  on  parts 
distant  fi'om  the  eye.  Here,  again,  the  principle  of  honesty  must 
govern  our  treatment :  we  must  not  work  any  kind  of  ornament 
which  is,  perhaps,  to  cover  the  whole  building  (or  at  least  to  occur  on 
all  parts  of  it)  delicately  where  it  is  near  the  eye,  and  rudely  where  it 
is  removed  from  it.  That  is  trickery  and  dishonesty.  Consider, 
first,  what  kinds  of  ornaments  will  tell  in  the  distance  and  what 
near,  and  so  distribute  them,  keeping  such  as  by  their  nature  are 
dehcate,  down  near  the  eye,  and  throwing  the  bold  and  rough  kinds 
of  work  to  the  top ;  and  if  there  be  any  kind  which  is  to  be  both 
near  and  far  off,  take  care  that  it  be  as  boldly  and  rudely  wrought 
where  it  is  well  seen  as  where  it  is  distant,  so  thaC  the  spectator  may 
know  exactly  what  it  is,  and  what  it  is  worth.  Thus  chequered 
patterns,  and  in  general  such  ornaments  as  common  workmen  can 
execute,  may  extend  over  the  whole  building ;  but  bas-rehefs,  and 
fine  niches  and  capitals,  should  be  kept  down,  and  the  common 


THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE.  21 

sense  of  this  vnW  always  give  a  building  dignity,  even  though  there 
be  some  abruptness  or  awkwardness,  in  the  resulting  arrangements. 
Thus  at  San  Zeno  at  Verona,  the  bas-rehefe,  full  of  incident  and 
interest,  are  confined  to  a  parallelogram  of  the  front,  reaching  to  the 
height  of  the  capitals  of  the  columns  of  the  porch.  Above  these, 
we  find  a  simple,  though  most  lovely,  httle  arcade  ;  and  above  that, 
only  blank  wall,  with  square  face  shafts.  The  whole  efiect  is  tenfold 
grander  and  better  than  if  the  entire  facade  had  been  covered  with 
bad  work,  and  may  serve  for  an  example  of  the  way  to  place  httle 
where  we  cannot  afibrd  much.  So,  again,  the  transept  gates  of 
Rouen*  are  covered  with  dehcate  bas-reliefe  (of  which  I  shall  speak 
at  greater  length  presently)  up  to  about  once  and  a  half  a  man's 
height ;  and  above  that  come  the  usual  and  more  visible  statues  and 
niches.  So  in  the  campanile  at  Florence,  the  circuit  of  bas-reliefs  is 
on  its  lowest  story  ;  above  that  come  its  statues ;  and  above  them  all 
its  pattern  mosaic,  and  twisted  columns,  exquisitely  finished,  like  all 
Itahan  work  of  the  time,  but  still,  in  the  eye  of  the  Florentine, 
rough  and  commonplace  by  comparison  w^th  the  bas-rehefs.  So 
generally  the  most  dehcate  niche  work  and  best  mouldings  of  the 
French  Gothic  are  in  gates  and  low  windows  well  ^vithin  sight ; 
although,  it  being  the  very  spirit  of  that  style  to  trust  to  its 
exuberance  for  effect,  there  is  occasionally  a  burst  upwards  and 
blossoming  unrestrainably  to  the  sky,  as  in  the  pediment  of  the 
west  front  of  Rouen,  and  in  the  recess  of  the  rose  window  behind  it, 
where  there  are  some  most  elaborate  flower-mouldings,  all  but 
invisible  from  below,  and  only  adding  a  general  enrichment  to  the 
deep  shadows  that  reheve  the  shafts  of  the  advanced  pediment.  It 
is  observable,  however,  that  this  very  work  is  bad  flamboyant,  and 
has  corrupt  renaissance  characters  in  its  detail  as  well  as  use ;  while 
in  the  earlier  and  grander  north  and  south  gates,  there  is  a  very 
noble  proportioning  of  the  work  to  the  distance,  the  niches  and 
statues  which  crown  the  northern  one,  at  a  height  of  about  one 
hundred  teet  from  the  ground,  being  ahke  colossal  and  simple; 
visibly  so  from  below,  so  as  to  induce  no  deception,  and  yet  honestly 
and  well  finished  above,  and  all  that  they  are  expected  to  be  ;  the 

*  Henceforward,  for  the  sake  of  convenience,  when  I  name  any  cathe- 
dral town  in  this  manner,  let  me  be  understood  to  speak  of  its  cathedral 
ehuich. 


22  THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE. 

features  very  beautiful,  full  of  expression,  and  as  delicately  wrought 
as  any  work  of  the  period. 

XIII.  It  is  to  be  remembered,  however,  that  while  the  ornaments 
in  every  fine  ancient  building,  without  exception  so  far  as  I  am  aware, 
are  most  delicate  at  the  base,  they  are  often  in  greater  effective  quart* 
tity  on  the  upper  parts.  In  high  towers  this  is  perfectly  natural  and 
right,  the  solidity  of  the  foundation  being  as  necessary  as  the  divi- 
sion and  penetration  of  the  superstructure ;  hence  the  lighter  work 
and  richly  pierced  crowns  of  late  Gothic  towers.  The  campanile  of 
Giotto  at  Florence,  already  alluded  to,  is  an  exquisite  instance  of  the 
union  of  the  two  principles,  delicate  bas-rehefe  adorning  its  massy 
foundation,  wliile  the  open  tracery  of  the  upper  windows  attracts  the 
eye  by  its  slender  intricacy,  and  a  rich  cornice  crowns  the  whole.  In 
such  truly  fine  cases  of  this  disposition  the  upper  work  is  effective 
by  its  quantity  and  intricacy  only,  as  the  lower  portions  by  delicacy ; 
so  also  in  the  Tour  de  Beurre  at  Rouen,  where,  however,  the  detail 
is  massy  throughout,  subdi\iding  into  rich  meshes  as  it  ascends.  In 
the  bodies  of  buikhngs  the  principle  is  less  safe,  but  its  discussion  is 
not  connected  with  our  present  subject. 

XIV.  Finally,  work  may  be  wasted  by  being  too  good  for  its 
material,  or  too  fine  to  bear  exposure  ;  and  this,  generally  a  charac- 
teristic of  late,  especially  of  renaissance,  work,  is  perhaps  the  worst 
fault  of  all.  I  do  not  know  anything  more  painful  or  pitiful  than 
the  kind  of  ivory  carxing  wdth  which  the  Certosa  of  Pavia,  and  part 
of  the  Colleone  sepulchral  chapel  at  Bergamo,  and  other  such  build- 
ings, are  incrusted,  of  which  it  is  not  possible  so  much  as  to  think 
without  exhaustion ;  and  a  heavy  sense  of  the  misery  it  would  be, 
to  be  forced  to  look  at  it  at  all.  And  this  is  not  from  the  quantity  of 
it,  nor  because  it  is  bad  work — much  of  it  is  inventive  and  able ; 
but  because  it  looks  as  if  it  were  only  fit  to  be  put  in  inlaid  cabinets 
and  velveted  caskets,  and  as  if  it  could  not  bear  one  drifting  shower 
or  gnawing  fi*ost.  We  are  afraid  for  it,  anxious  about  it,  and  tor- 
mented by  it ;  and  we  feel  that  a  massy  shaft  and  a  bold  shadow 
would  be  worth  it  all.  Nevertheless,  even  in  casas  like  these,  much 
depends  on  the  accomplishment  of  the  gTeat  ends  of  decoration.  K 
the  ornament  does  its  duty — if  it  is  ornament,  and  its  points  of  shade 
and  light  tell  in  the  general  effect,  we  shall  not  be  offended  by  finding 
that  the  sculptor  in  his  fulness  of  fancy  has  chosen  to  give  much 
more  than  these  mere  points  of  hght,  and  has  composed  them  of 


i'lp 


#l^p* 


iirm 


'vi'!^n]i0U 


THE    LAMP    OP    SACRIFICE.  23 

groups  of  fi^ur'^.s.  But  if  the  ornament  does  not  answer  its  purpose, 
if  it  have  no  cj  >tant,  no  truly  decorative  power ;  if  generally  seen  it 
be  a  mere  in: nictation  and  meaningless  roughness,  we  shall  only  be 
chnc;Tined  by  liiiding  wlien  we  look  close,  that  the  incrustation  has 
cost  years  of  L-.bor,  and  has  millions  of  figures  and  histories  in  it ; 
and  would  bn  the  better  of  being  seen  through  a  Stanliope  lens. 
Hence  the  gToatness  of  the  northern  Gothic  as  contrasted  with  the 
latest  Ttahau.  It  reaches  nearly  the  same  extreme  of  detail ;  but  ii 
never  loses  .=i^ht  of  its  architectural  purpose,  never  tails  in  its  deco- 
rative povy'cr ;  not  a  leaflet  in  it  but  sj^eaks,  and  speaks  far  off  too  ; 
and  so  long  pj^  this  be  the  case,  there  is  no  limit  to  the  luxuriance  in 
which  such  /  urk  may  legitimately  and  nobly  be  bestowed. 

XV.  No  liiLiit:  it  is  one  of  the  affectations  of  architects  to  speak 
of  overcharged  ornament.  Ornament  cannot  be  overcharged  if  it  be 
good,  and  i^  always  overcharged  when  it  is  bad.  I  have  given,  on 
the  opposite  j'cigo,  (tig.  1.),  one  of  the  smallest  niches  of  the  central 
gate  of  Rouf  ]i.  That  gate  I  suppose  to  be  the  most  exquisite  piece 
of  pure  flamboyant  work  existing ;  for  though  I  have  spoken  of  the 
upper  portions,  especially  the  receding  window,  as  degenerate,  the 
gate  its(.'lf  is  of  a  purer  period,  and  has  hardly  any  renaissance  taint. 
There  are  four  strings  of  these  niches  (each  ^vith  two  figures  beneath 
it)  round  the  porch,  from  the  ground  to  the  top  of  the  arch,  with 
three  intermediate  rows  of  larger  niches,  far  more  elaborate  ;  besides 
the  six  priiicii)al  canopies  of  each  outer  pier.  The  total  number  of 
the  subordinate  niches  alone,  each  worked  hke  that  in  the  plate,  and 
each  with  a  diflerent  pattern  of  traceries  in  each  compartment,  is  one 
hundred  and  seventy-six.*  Yet  in  all  this  ornament  there  is  not  one 
cusp,  one  finial,  that  is  useless — not  a  stroke  of  the  chisel  is  in  vain ; 
the  grace  and  luxuriance  of  it  all  are  ^^sible — sensible  rather — even 
to  the  uninquiring  eye ;  and  all  its  minuteness  does  not  diminish  the 
majesty,  wliile  it  increases  the  mystery,  of  the  noble  and  mibroken 
vault.  It  is  not  less  the  boast  of  some  styles  that  they  can  bear 
ornament,  than  of  others  that  they  can  do  without  it ;  but  we  do 
not  often  enough  reflect  that  those  very  styles,  of  so  haughty  sim- 
plicity, owe  part  of  their  pleasurableness  to  contrast,  and  would  be 
wearisome  if  universal.  They  are  but  the  rests  and  monotones  of 
the  art ;  it  is  to  its  far  happier,  far  higher,  exaltation  that  we  owe 
those  fair  fronts  of  variegated  mosaic,  charged  with  ^^^ld  fancies  and 
dark  hosts   of  imagery,  thicker  and  quainter  than  ever  filled  the 


24  THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE. 

depth  of  midsummer  dream  ;  those  vaulted  gates,  trellised  with  close 
leaves  ;  those  window-labyrinths  of  t^visted  tracery  and  starry  light ; 
those  misty  masses  of  multitudinous  pinnacle  and  diademed  tower ; 
the  only  witnesses,  perhaps,  that  remain  to  us  of  the  faith  and  fear 
of  nations.  All  eke  for  which  the  builders  sacrificed,  ha^  passed 
away — all  their  h^'ing  interests,  and  aims,  and  achievements.  We 
know  not  for  what  they  labored,  and  we  see  no  evidence  of  their 
reward.  Victory,  wealth,  authority,  happiness — all  have  departed, 
though  bought  by  many  a  bitter  sacrifice.  But  of  them,  and  their 
hfe,  and  their  toil  upon  the  earth,  one  reward,  one  evidence,  is  left 
to  us  in  those  gray  heaps  of  deep-wrought  stone.  They  have  taken 
with  them  to  the  grave  their  powers,  their  honors,  and  their  errors ; 
but  they  have  left  us  their  adoration. 


CHA  PTER    II 


THE  LAMP  OF  TRUTH. 


I.  There  is  a  marked  likeness  between  the  virtue  of  man  and  the 
enlightenment  of  the  glol^e  he  inhabits — the  same  diminishing  gra- 
dation in  \\gor  up  to  the  limits  of  their  domains,  the  same  essential 
separation  from  their  contraries — the  same  t\vilight  at  the  meeting 
of  the  two  :  a  something  wider  belt  than  the  line  where  the  world 
rolls  into  night,  that  strange  twilight  of  the  \-irtues ;  that  dusky 
debateable  land,  wherein  zeal  becomes  impatience,  and  temperance 
becomes  severity,  and  justice  becomes  cruelty,  and  faith  superstition, 
and  each  and  all  vanish  into  gloom. 

Nevertheless,  with  the  greater  number  of  them,  though  their 
dimness  increases  gradually,  Ave  may  mark  the  moment  of  their  sun- 
set ;  and,  happily,  may  turn  the  shadow  back  by  the  way  by  which 
it  had  gone  down :  but  for  one,  the  line  of  the  horizon  is  irregular 
and  undefined ;  and  thiR,  too,  the  very  equator  and  girdle  of  them 
all — Truth  ;  that  only  one  of  which  there  are  no  degrees,  but  breaks 
and  rents  continually  ;  that  pillar  of  the  earth,  yet  a  cloudy  pillar  ; 
that  golden  and  narrow  Hue,  which  the  very  powers  and  \irtues  that 
lean  upon  it  bend,  which  policy  and  prudence  conceal,  which  kind- 
ness and  courtesy  modify,  which  courage  overshadows  Anth  his  sliield, 
imagination  covers  with  her  wings,  and  charity  dims  with  her  tears. 
How  difficult  must  the  maintenance  of  that  authority  bo,  which, 
while  it  has  to  restrain  the  hostiUty  of  all  the  worst  principles  of 
man,  has  also  to  restrain  the  disorders  of  his  best — which  is  con- 
tinually assaulted  by  the  one  and  betrayed  by  the  other,  and  which 
regards  with  the  same  severity  the  lightest  and  the  boldest  eolations 
of  its  law  !  There  are  some  faults  slight  in  the  sight  of  love,  some 
errors  slight  in  the  estimate  of  wisdom  ;  but  truth  forgives  no  insult, 
and  endures  no  stain. 

We  do  not  enough  consider  this ;  nor  enough  dread  the  slight 

2 


26  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

and  continual  occasions  of  offence  against  her.  We  ar^  too  miicli 
in  the  habit  of  looking  at  falsehood  in  its  darkest  a -^^ -iations,  and 
through  the  color  of  its  worst  purposes.  That  indignation  which 
we  profess  to  feel  at  deceit  absolute,  is  indeed  only  at  deceit  malicious. 
We  resent  eahimny,  h}q30crisy  and  treachery,  because  they  harm  us, 
not  because  they  are  untrue.  Take  the  detraction  and  the  mischief 
from  the  untruth,  and  we  are  little  offended  by  it;  turn  it  into 
praise,  and  we  may  be  pleased  with  it.  And  yet  it  is  not  calumny 
nor  treachery  that  does  the  largest  sum  of  mischief  in  the  world ;  they 
are  continually  crushed,  and  are  felt  only  in  being  conquered.  But 
it  is  the  glistening  and  softly  spoken  he ;  the  amiable  fallacy ;  the 
patriotic  he  of  the  histonan,  the  provident  he  of  the  pohtician,  the 
zealous  he  of  the  partizan,  the  merciful  lie  of  the  friend,  and  the 
careless  lie  of  each  man  to  himself^  that  cast  that  black  mystery  over 
humanity,  through  which  any  man  who  pierces,  we  thank  as  we 
would  thank  one  who  dug  a  well  in  a  desert ;  happy  in  that  the 
thhst  for  truth  still  remains  with  us,  even  when  we  have  wilfully  left 
the  fountains  of  it. 

It  would  be  well  if  moralists  less  frequently  confused  the  gi-eatness 
of  a  sin  with  its  unpardonableness.  The  two  characters  are  altogether 
distmct.  The  greatness  of  a  fault  depends  partly  on  the  nature  of 
the  person  against  whom  it  is  committed,  partly  upon  the  extent  of 
its  consequences.  Its  pardonableness  depends,  humanly  speaking, 
on  the  degTee  of  temptation  to  it.  One  cfess  of  circumstances  de- 
termines the  weight  of  the  attaching  punishment ;  the  other,  the 
claim  to  remission  of  punishment :  and  since  it  is  not  easy  for  men 
to  estimate  the  relative  weight,  nor  possible  for  them  to  know  the 
relative  consequences,  of  crime,  it  is  usually  wise  in  them  to  quit  the 
care  of  such  nice  measurements,  and  to  look  to  the  other  and  clearer 
condition  of  culpabihty,  esteeming  those  faults  worst  which  are  com- 
mitted under  least  temptation.  I  do  not  mean  to  diminish  the  blame 
of  the  injurious  and  malicious  sin,  of  the  selfish  and  deliberate  fi\lsity ; 
yet  it  seems  to  me,  that  the  shortest  way  to  check  the  darker  forms 
of  deceit  is  to  set  watch  more  scrupulous  against  those  which  have 
mingled,  unregarded  and  unchastised,  >\ith  the  current  of  our  life. 
Do  not  let  us  lie  at  aU.  Do  not  think  of  one  falsity  as  harmless,  and 
another  as  slight,  and  another  as  unintended.  Cast  them  all  aside  • 
they  may  be  hght  and  accidental ;  but  they  are  an  ugly  soot  from 
the  smoke  of  the  pit,  for  all  that ;  and  it  is  better  that  our  heai-ts 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH.  2l 

should  be  swept  clean  of  them,  without  over  care  as  to  which  ia 
largest  or  blackest.  Speaking  truth  is  like  writing  fair,  and  comes  only 
bv  practice  ;  it  is  less  a  matter  of  will  than  of  habit,  and  I  doubt  if  any 
occasion  can  be  trivial  which  permits  the  practice  and  formation  of 
such  a  habit.  To  speak  and  act  truth  with  constancy  and  precision 
is  nearly  as  difficult,  and  perhaps  as  meritorious,  as  to  speak  it  under 
ntimidation  or  penalty ;  and  it  is  a  strange  thought  how  many  men 
there  are,  as  I  trust,  who  would  hold  to  it  at  the  cost  of  fortune  or 
life,  for  one  who  would  hold  to  it  at  the  cost  of  a  little  daily  trouble. 
And  seeing  that  of  all  sin  there  is,  perhaps,  no  one  more  flatly  oppo- 
site to  the  Almighty,  no  one  more  "  wanting  the  good  of  "\irtue  and 
of  being,"  than  this  of  lying,  it  is  surely  a  strange  insolence  to  fall 
into  the  foulness  of  it  on  hght  or  on  no  temptation,  and  surely  be- 
coming an  honorable  man  to  resolve  that,  whatever  semblances  or 
fallacies  the  necessary  course  of  his  life  may  compel  him  to  bear  or 
to  believe,  none  shall  disturb  the  serenity  of  his  voluntary  actions, 
nor  diminish  the  reahty  of  his  chosen  delights. 

II.  If  this  be  just  and  wise  for  truth's  sake,  much  more  is  it 
necessary  for  the  sake  of  the  delights  over  which  she  has  influence. 
For,  as  I  advocated  the  expression  of  the  Spirit  of  Sacrifice  in  the 
acts  and  pleasures  of  men,  not  as  if  thereby  those  acts  could  further 
the  cause  of  rehgion,  but  because  most  assuredly  they  might  therein 
be  infinitely  ennobled  themselves,  so  I  would  have  the  Spirit  or 
Lamp  of  Truth  clear  in  the  hearts  of  our  artists  and  handicraftsmen, 
not  as  if  the  truthful  practice  of  handicrafts  could  far  advance  the 
cause  of  truth,  but  because  I  would  fain  see  the  handicrafts  them- 
selves urged  by  the  spure  of  chivalry  :  and  it  is,  indeed,  marvellous 
to  see  what  power  and  universality  there  is  in  this  single  principle, 
and  how  in  the  consulting  or  forgetting  of  it  hes  half  the  dignity  or 
decline  of  every  art  and  act  of  man.  I  have  before  endeavored  to 
show  its  range  and  power  in  painting ;  and  I  believe  a  volume, 
instead  of  a  chapter,  might  be  written  on  its  authority  over  all  that 
is  great  in  architecture.  But  I  must  be  content  with  the  force  of 
instances  few  and  familiar,  believing  that  the  occasions  of  its  mani- 
festation may  be  more  easily  discovered  by  a  desire  to  be  true,  than 
embraced  by  an  analysis  of  truth. 

Only  it  is  very  necessary  in  the  outset  to  mark  clearly  wherein 
c  >nsists  the  essence  of  fallacy  as  distino;uished  from  su]>positioru 

III.  For  it  might  be  at  fii-st  ^lioui^ht  that  the  whole  kingdom  of 


28  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

imagination  was  one  of  deception  also.  Not  so:  the  acticn  of  the 
imagination  is  a  voluntary  summoning  of  the  conceptions  of  things 
absent  or  impossible  ;  and  the  pleasure  and  nobihty  of  the  imagination 
partly  consist  in  its  knowledge  and  contemplation  of  them  as  such, 
i.  e.  in  the  knowledge  of  their  actual  absence  or  impossibility  at  the 
moment  of  their  apparent  presence  or  reahty.  When  the  imagination 
deceives  it  becomes  madness.  It  is  a  noble  faculty  so  long  as  it 
confesses  its  own  ideality  ;  when  it  ceases  to  confess  this,  it  is  insanity. 
All  the  difference  hes  in  the  fact  of  the  confession,  in  there  being  no 
deception.  It  is  necessary  to  our  rank  as  spiritual  creatures,  that  we 
should  be  able  to  invent  and  to  behold  what  is  not ;  and  to  our  rank 
as  moral  creatures,  that  we  should  know  and  confess  at  the  same 
time  that  it  is  not. 

IV.  Again,  it  might  be  thought,  and  has  been  thought,  that  the 
whole  art  of  painting  is  nothing  else  than  an  endeavor  to  deceive. 
Not  so  :  it  is,  on  the  contrary,  a  statement  of  certain  facts,  in  the 
clearest  possible  way.  For  instance :  I  desire  to  give  an  account  of 
a  mountain  or  of  a  rock  ;  I  begin  by  telling  its  shape.  But  words 
Avill  not  do  this  distinctly,  and  I  draw  its  shape,  and  say,  "  This  was 
its  shape."  Next :  I  would  fain  represent  its  color  ;  but  words  will 
not  do  this  either,  and  I  dye  the  jjaper,  and  say,  "  This  was  its  color." 
Such  a  process  may  be  carried  on  until  the  scene  appears  to  exist, 
and  a  high  pleasure  may  be  taken  in  its  apparent  existence.  This 
is  a  communicated  act  of  imagination,  but  no  lie.  The  lie  can 
consist  only  in  an  assertion  of  its  existence  (which  is  never  for  one 
instant  made,  implied,  or  believed),  or  else  in  false  statements  of 
forms  and  colors  (which  are,  indeed,  made  and  beheved  to  our  great 
loss,  continually).  And  observe,  also,  that  so  degrading  a  thing  is 
deception  in  even  the  approach  and  ap[)earance  of  it,  that  all  painting 
which  even  reaches  the  mark  of  apparent  reahzation,  is  degraded  in 
so  doing.     I  have  enough  insisted  on  this  point  in  another  place. 

V.  The  ^^olations  of  truth,  which  dishonor  poetry  and  painting 
are  thus  for  the  most  part  confined  to  the  treatment  of  their  subjects. 
But  in  arcliitecture  another  and  a  less  subtle,  more  contemptible, 
violation  of  truth  is  possible  ;  a  direct  falsity  of  assertion  respecting 
the  nature  of  material,  or  the  quantity  of  labor,  ^nd  this  is,  in  the 
fidl  sense  of  the  word,  wrong  ;  it  is  as  truly  deserving  of  reprobation 
as  any  other  moral  delinquency  ;  it  is  unworthy  alike  of  archite  ^ts 
and  of  nations  ;  and  it  has  been  a  sign,  wherever  it  has  widely  an  J 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH.  •j^ 

with  'iteration  existed,  of  a  singular  debasement  of  the  arts  ;  that  it 
is  not  a  sign  of  worse  than  this,  of  a  general  want  of  severe  probity 
can  be  accounted  for  only  by  our  knowledge  of  the  strange  separation 
■which  has  for  some  centuries  existed  between  the  arts  and  all  other 
subjects  of  human  intellect,  as  matters  of  conscience.  Tliis  withdrawal 
of  conscientiousness  from  among  the  faculties  concerned  ^\^th  art, 
while  it  has  destroyed  the  arts  themselves,  has  also  rendered  in  a 
measure  nugatory  the  evidence  which  otherwise  they  might  have 
presented  respecting  the  character  of  the  respective  nations  among 
whom  they  have  been  cultivated ;  otherwise,  it  might  appear  more 
than  strange  that  a  nation  so  distinguished  for  its  general  uprightness 
and  faith  as  the  English,  should  admit  in  their  architectiu'e  more  of 
pretence,  concealment,  and  deceit,  than  any  other  of  tliis  or  of  past 
time. 

They  are  admitted  in  thoughtlessness,  but  ^vith  fatal  effect  upon 
the  art  in  which  they  are  pnictised.  If  there  were  no  other  causes 
for  the  failures  which  of  late  have  marked  every  great  occasion  for 
architectural  exertion,  these  petty  dishonesties  would  be  enough  to 
account  for  all.  It  is  the  fii-st  step  and  not  the  least,  towards  greatness 
to  do  away  with  these ;  the  first,  because  so  endently  and  easily  in 
our  power.  We  may  not  be  able  to  command  good,  or  beautiful, 
or  inventive  architecture ;  but  we  can  command  an  honest  arcliitecture : 
the  meagreness  of  poverty  may  be  pardoned,  the  sternness  of  utihty 
respected  ;  but  what  is  there  but  scorn  for  the  meanness  of  deception  ? 

VI.  Architectural  Deceits  are  broadly  to  be  considered  under  three 
heads : — 

1st.  The  suggestion  of  a  mode  of  structure  or  support,  other  than 
the  true  one  ;  a^  in  pendants  of  late  Gothic  roofs. 

2d.  The  painting  of  surfaces  to  represent  some  other  material  than 
that  of  which  they  actually  consist  (as  in  the  marbling  of  wood),  or 
the  deceptive  representation  of  sculptured  ornament  upon  them. 

3d.  The  use  of  cast  or  machine-made  ornaments  of  any  kind. 

Now,  it  may'be  broadly  stated,  that  architecture  will  be  noble 
exactly  in  the  degree  in  which  all  these  false  expedients  are  avoided. 
Nevertheless,  there  are  certain  degrees  of  them,  which,  ownng  to  their 
frequent  usage,  or  to  other  causes,  have  so  far  lost  the  nature  of  deceit 
as  to  be  admissible  ;  as,  for  instance,  gilding,  which  is  in  architecture 
no  deceit,  because  it  is  therein  not  understood  for  gold  ;  while  in 
jewellery  it  is  a  deceit,  because  it  is  so  undei"stood,  and  therefore 


30  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

altogether  to  be  reprehended.  So  that  there  arise,  in  the  application 
of  the  strict  rules  of  right,  many  exceptions  and  niceties  of  conscience ; 
which  let  us  as  briefly  as  possible  examine. 

VII.  1st.  Structural  Deceits.  I  have  Hmited  these  to  the  deter- 
mined and  purposed  suggestion  of  a  mode  of  support  other  than  the 
true  one.  The  architect  is  not  hound  to  exhibit  structure ;  Lor  are 
"we  to  complain  of  him  for  conceahng  it,  any  more  than  we  should 
regret  that  the  outer  sm'faces  of  the  human  frame  conceal  much  of 
its  anatomy ;  nevertheless,  that  building  will  generally  be  the  noblest, 
which  to  an  intelligent  eye  discovers  the  great  secrets  of  its  structure, 
as  an  animal  form  does,  although  from  a  careless  obsen-er  they  may 
be  concealed.  In  the  vaulting  of  a  Gothic  roof  it  is  no  deceit  to 
throw  the  strength  into  the  ribs  of  it,  and  make  the  intermediate 
vault  a  mere  shell.  Such  a  structure  would  be  presumed  by  an 
intelligent  observer,  the  fii"st  time  he  saw  such  a  roof;  and  the 
beauty  of  its  traceries  would  be  enhanced  to  him  if  they  confessed 
and  followed  the  lines  of  its  main  strength.  If,  however,  the  inter- 
mediate shell  were  made  of  wood  instead  of  stone,  and  whitewashed 
to  look  like  the  rest, — this  would,  of  course,  be  direct  deceit,  and 
altogether  unpardonable. 

There  is,  however,  a  certain  deception  necessarily  occurring  in 
Gothic  architecture,  which  relates,  not  to  the  points,  but  to  the  man- 
ner, of  support.  The  resemblance  in  its  shafts  and  ribs  to  the  external 
relations  of  stems  and  branches,  which  has  been  the  ground  of  so 
much  foolish  speculation,  necessarily  induces  in  the  mind  of  the 
spectator  a  sense  or  belief  of  a  correspondent  internal  structure ;  that 
is  to  say,  of  a  fibrous  and  continuous  strength  from  the  root  into  the 
limbs,  and  an  elasticity  communicated  upwards,  sufficient  for  the 
support  of  the  ramified  portions.  The  idea  of  the  real  conchtions, 
of  a  great  weight  of  ceihng  thrown  upon  certain  narrow,  jointed 
Hues,  which  have  a  tendency  partly  to  be  crushed,  and  partly  to 
separate  and  be  pushed  outwards,  is  with  difficulty  received ;  and 
the  more  so  when  the  pillars  would  be,  if  unassisted,  too  slight  for 
the  weight,  and  are  supported  by  external  flpng  buttresses,  as  in 
the  apse  of  Beauvais,  and  other  such  achie\'ements  of  the  bolder 
Gothic.  Now,  there  is  a  nice  question  of  conscience  in  this,  which 
we  shall  hardly  settle  but  by  considering  that,  when  the  mind  is 
informed  beyond  the  possibility  of  mistake  as  to  the  true  natiu'e  of 
tilings,  the  aflfecting  it  \Ai\\  a  contrary  impression,  however  distinct^ 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH.  ff 

is  no  dishonGity,  but  on  the  contrary,  a  legitimate  appeal  to  tlia 
imagination.  For  instance,  the  greater  part  of  the  happiness  which 
we  have  in  contemplating  clouds,  results  from  the  impression  of 
their  having  massive,  luminous,  warm,  and  mountain-like  surfaces  ; 
and  our  delight  in  the  sky  frequently  depends  upon  our  considering 
it  as  a  blue  vault.  But  we  know  the  contrary,  in  both  instances; 
we  know  the  cloud  to  be  a  damp  fog,  or  a  drift  of  snow  flakes  ;  and 
the  sky  to  be  a  lightless  abyss.  There  is,  therefore,  no  dishonesty, 
while  there  is  much  delight,  in  the  irresistibly  contrary  impression. 
Tn  the  same  way,  so  long  as  we  see  the  stones  and  joints,  and  are 
not  deceived  as  to  the  points  of  support  in  any  piece  of  architecture, 
we  may  rather  praise  than  regret  the  dextrous  artifices  which  compel 
us  to  feel  as  if  there  were  fibre  in  its  shafts  and  hfe  in  its  branches. 
Nor  is  even  the  concealment  of  the  support  of  the  external  buttress 
reprehensible,  so  long  as  the  pillars  are  not  sensibly  inadequate  to 
their  dut}-.  For  the  weight  of  a  roof  is  a  circumstance  of  which  the 
spectator  generally  has  no  idea,  and  the  proWsions  for  it,  conse- 
quently, circumstances  whose  necessity  or  adaptation  he  could  not 
undei-stand.  It  is  no  deceit,  therefore,  when  the  weight  to  be  borne 
is  necessarily  unknown,  to  conceal  also  the  means  of  beaiiug  it, 
leaving  only  to  be  perceived  so  much  of  the  support  as  is  indeed 
adequate  to  the  weight  supposed.  For  the  shafts  do,  indeed,  bear 
as  much  as  they  are  ever  imagined  to  bear,  and  the  system  of 
added  su[)ix»rt  is  no  more,  as  a  matter  of  conscience,  to  be  exhibited, 
than,  in  the  human  or  any  other  form,  mechanical  provisions  for 
those  functions  which  are  themselves  unperceived. 

But  the  moment  that  the  conditions  of  weight  are  comprehended, 
both  trutlv  and  feehng  require  that  the  conditions  of  support  should 
be  also  comprehended.  Xothing  can  be  worse,  either  as  judged  by 
the  taste  or  the  conscience,  than  affectedly  inadequate  su]>ports — 
suspensions  in  air,  and  other  such  tricks  and  vanities.  Mr.  Hope 
wisely  reprehends,  for  this  reason,  the  arrangement  of  the  main 
piei*s  of  St  Sophia  at  Constantinople.  King's  College  Chapel, 
Cambridge,  is  a  piece  of  architectural  juggling,  if  possible  still  more 
to  be  2ondemned,  because  less  subhme. 

VIII.  With  deceptive  concealments  of  structure  are  to  be  classed, 
though  still  more  blameable,  deceptive  assumptions  of  it — tlie  in- 
troduction of  members  which  should  have,  or  profess  to  have,  a 
duty,  and  \va\o  none.     One  of  the  most  general   instnncos  of  this 


32  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

will  be  found  in  the  form  of  the  flying  buttress  in  late  Gothic.  The 
use  of  that  member  is,  of  course,  to  convey  support  ft'om  one  pier  to 
another  when  the  plan  of  the  building  rendei-s  it  necessary  or 
desirable  that  the  supporting  masses  should  be  divided  into  groups  ; 
the  most  frequent  necessity  of  this  kind  arising  from  the  inter- 
mediate range  of  chapels  or  aisles  between  the  nave  or  ch;>ii  walls 
and  their  supporting  piers.  The  natural,  healthy,  and  beautiful 
arrangement  is  that  of  a  steeply  sloping  bar  of  stone,  sustained  by 
an  arch  with  its  spandril  carried  farthest  down  on  the  lowest  side, 
and  dying  into  the  vertical  of  the  outer  pier ;  that  pier  being,  of 
course,  not  square,  but  rather  a  piece  of  wall  set  at  right  angles  to 
the  supported  walls,  and,  if  need  be,  crowned  by  a  pinnacle  to  give 
it  greater  weight.  The  whole  arrangement  is  exquisitely  carried  out 
in  the  choir  of  Beaiivais.  In  later  Gothic  the  pinnacle  became 
gradually  a  decorative  member,  and  was  used  in  all  places  merely 
for  the  sake  of  its  beauty.  There  is  no  objection  to  this  ;  it  is  just 
as  lawful  to  build  a  pinnacle  for  its  beauty  as  a  tower ;  but  also  the 
buttress  became  a  decorative  member ;  and  was  used,  first,  where  it 
was  not  wanted,  and,  secondly,  in  forms  in  which  it  could  be  of  no 
use,  becoming  a  mere  tie,  not  between  the  pier  and  wall,  but 
between  the  wall  and  the  top  of  the  decorative  pinnacle,  thus 
attaching  itself  to  the  ver}^  point  where  its  thrust,  if  it  made  any, 
could  not  be  resisted.  The  most  flagrant  instance  of  this  barbarism 
that  I  remember  (though  it  prevails  partially  in  all  the  spires  of  the 
Netherlands),  is  the  lantern  of  St.  Ouen  at  Rouen,  where  the 
pierced  buttress,  having  an  ogee  curve,  looks  about  as  much 
calculated  to  bear  a  thrust  as  a  s\vitch  of  willow ;  and  the  pinnacles, 
huge  and  richly  decorated,  have  e%'idently  no  work  to  do  whatso- 
ever, but  stand  round  the  central  tower,  hke  four  idle  servants,  as 
they  are — heraldic  supporters,  that  central  tower  being  merely  a 
hollow  crown,  which  needs  no  more  buttressing  than  a  basket  does. 
In  fact,  I  do  not  know  anything  more  strange  or  unwise  than  the 
praise  lavished  upon  this  lantern  ;  it  is  one  of  the  basest  pieces  of 
^Gothic  in  Europe ;  its  flamboyant  traceries  of  the  last  and  most 
degraded  forms  ;'  and  its  entire  plan  and  decoration  resembling,  and 
desening  little  more  credit  than,  the  burnt  sugar  ornaments  of 
elaborate  confectionery.  There  are  hardly  any  of  the  magnificent 
and  serene  constructions  of  the  early  Gothic  which  have  not,  in  the 
course  of  time,  been  gradually  thinned  and  pared  away  into  these 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH.  33 

skeletons,  which  sometimes  indeed,  when  their  hnes  truly  follow  the 
structure  of  the  original  masses,  have  an  interest  like  that  of  the 
fibrous  framework  of  leaves  from  which  the  substance  has  been 
dissolved,  but  which  are  usually  distorted  as  well  as  emaciated,  and 
remain  but  the  sickly  phantoms  and  mockeries  of  things  that  were ; 
they  are  to  true  architecture  what  the  Greek  ghost  was  to  the 
armed  and  hving  fi-ame ;  and  the  very  winds  that  whistle  through 
the  threads  of  them,  are  to  the  diapasoned  echoes  of  the  ancient 
walls,  as  to  the  voice  of  the  man  was  the  pining  of  the  spectre.' 

IX.  Perhaps  the  most  fruitful  source  of  these  kinds  of  corruption 
which  we  have  to  guard  against  in  recent  times,  is  one  which, 
nevertheless,  comes  in  a  "  questionable  shape,"  and  of  which  it  is 
not  easy  to  determine  the  proper  laws  and  limits  ;  I  mean  the  use 
of  iron.  The  definition  of  the  art  of  architecture,  given  in  the  first 
chapter,  is  independent  of  its  materials:  nevertheless,  that  art 
having  been,  up  to  the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  practised 
for  the  most  part  in  clay,  stone,  or  wood,  it  has  resulted  that  the 
sense  of  proportion  and  the  laws  of  structure  have  been  biised,  the 
one  altogether,  the  other  in  great  part,  on  the  necessities  consequent 
on  the  employment  of  those  materials;  and  that  the  entire  or 
principal  employment  of  metalhc  framework  would,  therefore,  be 
generally  felt  as  a  departure  from  the  fii-st  principles  of  the  art. 
Abstractedly  there  appears  no  reason  why  iron  should  not  be  used 
as  well  as  wood ;  and  the  time  is  probably  near  when  a  new  system 
of  architectural  laws  will  be  developed,  adapted  entirely  to  metallic 
construction.  But  I  beheve  that  the  tendency  of  all  present 
sympathy  and  association  is  to  limit  the  idea  of  architecture  to  non- 
metallic  work  ;  and  that  not  without  reason.  For  architecture  being 
in  its  perfection  the  earliest,  as  in  its  elements  it  is  necessarily  the 
first,  of  arts,  will  always  precede,  in  any  barbarous  nation,  the 
possession  of  the  science  necessary  either  for  the  obtaining  or 
the  management  of  iron.  Its  first  existence  and  its  earliest  laws 
must,  therefore,  depend  upon  the  use  of  materials  accessible  in 
quantity,  and  on  the  surface  of  the  earth  ;  that  is  to  say,  clay,  wood, 
or  stone :  and  as  I  think  it  cannot  but  be  generally  felt  that  one  of 
the  chief  dignities  of  architecture  is  its  historical  use ;  and  since  the 
latter  is  i>artly  dependent  on  consistency  of  style,  it  will  be  felt  right 
to  retain  as  for  as  may  be,  even  in  periods  of  more  advanced  science, 
the  materials  and  principles  of  earlier  ages. 

2* 


84  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

X.  But  whether  this  be  gTanted  me  or  not,  the  fact  is,  that  every 
idea  respecting  size,  proportion,  decoration,  or  construction,  on  which 
we  are  at  present  in  the  habit  of  acting  or  judging,  depends  on 
presupposition  of  such  materials  :  and  as  I  both  feel  myself  unable 
to  escape  the  influence  of  these  prejudices,  and  beheve  that  my 
readers  tviU  be  equally  so,  it  may  be  perhaps  permitted  to  me  to 
assume  that  true  architecture  does  not  admit  iron  as  a  constructive 
material,^  and  that  such  works  as  the  cast-iron  central  spire  of  Rouen 
Cathedral,  or  the  iron  roofs  and  pillars  of  our  railway  stations,  and 
of  some  of  our  churches,  are  not  architecture  at  all.  Yet  it  is  evident 
that  metals  may,  and  sometimes  must,  enter  into  the  construction  to 
a  certain  extent,  as  nails  in  wooden  architecture,  and  therefore  as 
legitimately  rivets  and  solderings  in  stone  ;  neither  can  we  well  deny 
to  the  Gothic  architect  the  power  of  supporting  statues,  pinnacles,  or 
traceries  by  iron  bars ;  and  if  we  grant  this,  I  do  not  see  how  we  can 
help  allowing  Brunelleschi  his  iron  chain  around  the  dome  of 
Florence,  or  the  builders  of  Sahsbury  their  elaborate  iron  binding 
of  the  central  tower.**  If,  however,  we  would  not  fall  into  the  old 
sophistry  of  the  grains  of  corn  and  the  heap,  we  must  find  a  rule 
which  may  enable  us  to  stop  somewhere.  This  rule  is,  I  think,  that 
metals  may  be  used  as  a  cement  but  not  as  a  support  For  as 
cements  of  other  kinds  are  often  so  strong  that  the  stones  may  easier 
be  broken  than  separated,  and  the  wall  becomes  a  sohd  mass  ^^^tllout 
for  that  reason  losing  the  character  of  architecture,  there  is  no  reason 
why,  when  a  nation  has  obtained  the  knowledge  and  practice  of  iron 
work,  metal  rods  or  rivets  should  not  be  used  in  the  place  of  cement, 
and  establish  the  same  or  a  greater  strength  and  adherence,  without 
in  any  ^vise  inducing  departure  from  the  types  and  system  of  archi- 
tecture before  established ;  nor  does  it  make  any  difference  except 
as  to  sightliness,  whether  the  metal  bands  or  rods  so  employed,  be  in 
the  body  of  the  wall  or  on  its  exterior,  or  set  as  stays  and  cross- 
bands  ;  so  only  that  the  use  of  them  be  always  and  distinctly  one 
which  might  be  superseded  by  mere  strength  of  cement ;  as  for 
instance  if  a  pinnacle  or  mullion  be  propped  or  tied  by  an  iron  band, 
it  is  e\ident  that  the  iron  only  prevents  the  separation  of  the  stones 
by  lateral  force,  which  the  cement  would  have  done,  had  it  been 
strong  enough.  But  the  moment  that  the  iron  in  the  least  degree 
takes  the  place  of  the  stone,  and  acts  by  its  resistance  to  crushing, 
and  bears  superincumbent  weight,  or  if  it  acts  by  its  own  weight  aa 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH.  35 

a  counterpo'p .,  and  so  supersedes  the  use  of  pinnax^les  or  buttressei 
in  resisting  a.  ateral  thrust,  or  if,  in  the  form  of  a  rod  or  girder,  it 
is  used  to  d  >  what  wooden  beams  would  have  done  as  well,  that 
instant  the  building  ceases,  so  far  as  such  applications  of  metal  extend, 
to  be  true  architecture. 

XI.  The  limit,  however,  thus  determined,  is  an  ultimate  one,  and 
it  is  well  in  ail  things  to  be  cautious  how  we  approach  the  utmost 
limit  of  lawfulness ;  so  that,  although  the  employment  of  metal 
within  this  hmit  cannot  be  considered  as  destrovinif  the  very  beinor 
and  nature  of  architecture,  it  ^^ill,  if  extravagant  and  frequent, 
derogate  fi'om  the  dignity  of  the  work,  as  well  as  (which  is  fspcoially 
to  our  present  point)  from  its  honesty.  For  although  the  sp<:-etator 
is  not  informed  as  to  the  quantity  or  strength  of  the  cement 
employed,  he  will  generally  conceive  the  stones  of  the  building  to 
be  separable ;  and  his  estimate  of  the  skill  of  the  architect  will  be 
based  in  a  great  measure  on  his  supposition  of  this  condition,  and  of 
the  difficulties  attendant  upon  it :  so  tliat  it  is  always  more  honorable, 
and  it  has  a  tendency  to  render  the  style  of  architecture  both  more 
mascuhne  and  more  scientific,  to  employ  stone  and  mortar  simply  as 
such,  and  to  do  as  much  as  possible  -with  the  weight  of  the  one  and 
the  strength  of  the  other,  and  rather  sometimes  to  forego  a  grace,  or 
to  confess  a  weakness,  than  attain  the  one,  or  conceal  the  other,  by 
means  verging  upon  dishonesty. 

Nevertheless,  where  the  design  is  of  such  delicacy  and  slightness 
as,  in  some  parts  of  very  fair  and  finished  edifices,  it  is  desirable  that 
it  should  be ;  and  where  both  its  completion  and  security  are  in  a 
measure  dependent  on  the  use  of  metal,  let  not  such  use  be  repre- 
hended ;  so  only  that  as  much  is  done  as  may  be,  by  good  mortar 
and  good  masonrj'^ ;  and  no  slovenly  workmanship  admitted 
through  confidence  in  the  iron  helps ;  for  it  is  in  this  hcense  as  in 
that  of  wine,  a  man  may  use  it  for  his  infirmities,  but  not  for  his 
nourishment. 

XII.  And,  in  order  to  avoid  an  over  use  of  this  liberty,  it  would 
be  well  to  consider  what  apphcation  may  be  conveniently  made  of 
the  dovetailing  and  various  adjasting  of  stones  ;  for  when  any  artifice 
is  necessary  to  help  the  mortar,  certainly  this  ought  to  come  before 
the  use  of  metal,  for  it  is  both  safer  and  more  honest.  I  cannot  see 
that  any  objection  can  be  made  to  the  fitting  of  the  stones  in  any 
shapes  the  architect  pleases  •,  for  although  it  would  not  be  desirabU 


36  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH, 

to  see  buildings  put  together  like  Chinese  puzzles,  there  must  always 
be  a  check  upon  such  an  abuse  of  the  practice  in  its  difficulty ;  nor 
is  it  necessary  that  it  should  be  aUvaA's  exhibited,  so  that  it  be  under- 
stood by  the  spectator  as  an  admitted  help,  and  that  no  principal  stones 
are  introduced  in  positions  apparently  impossible  for  them  to  retain, 
although  a  riddle  here  and  there,  in  unimportant  featm-es,  may  some- 
tunes  serve  to  di'aw  the  eye  to  the  masonry,  and  make  it  interesting, 
as  well  as  to  give  a  delightful  sense  of  a  kind  of  necromantic  power 
in  the  architect.  There  is  a  pretty  one  in  the  lintel  of  the  lateral 
door  of  the  cathedi'al  of  Prato  (Plate  IV.  fig.  4.)  ;  where  the  main- 
tenance of  the  \'isibly  separate  stones,  alternate  marble  and 
serpentine,  cannot  be  underetood  until  their  cross-cutting  is  seen 
below.     Each  block  is,  of  com*se,  of  the  fonn  given  in  fig.  5. 

XIII.  Lastly,  before  leaving  the  subject  of  structural  deceits,  I 
would  remind  the  architect  who  thinks  that  I  am  unnecessarily  and 
narrowly  hmiting  his  resources  or  his  art,  that  the  highest  greatness 
and  the  highest  wisdom  are  shown,  the  first  by  a  noble  submission 
to,  the  second  by  a  thoughtful  p^o^^dence  for,  certain  voluntarily 
admitted  restraints.  Nothing  is  more  evident  than  this,  in  that 
supreme  government  which  is  the  example,  as  it  is  the  centre  of  all 
others.  The  Divine  Wisdom  is,  and  can  be,  shown  to  us  only  in  its 
meeting  and  contending  vdth  the  difficulties  which  are  voluntarily, 
and /or  the  sake  of  that  contest^  admitted  by  the  Dixine  Omnipotence  : 
and  these  difficulties,  observe,  occur  in  the  form  of  natm*al  laws  or 
ordinances,  wliich  might,  at  many  times  and  in  countless  ways,  be 
infringed  with  apparent  advantage,  but  w^hich  are  never  infringed, 
w^hatever  costly  arrangements  or  adaptations  their  observance  may 
necessitate  for  the  accomplishment  of  given  purposes.  The  example 
most  apposite  to  our  present  subject  is  the  structure  of  the  bones  of 
animals.  No  reason  can  be  given,  I  believe,  why  the  system  of  the 
higher  animals  should  not  have  been  made  capable,  as  that  of  the 
Infusoria  is,  of  secreting  flint,  instead  of  phosphate  of  lime,  or  more 
naturally  still,  carbon ;  so  framing  the  bones  of  adamant  at  once. 
The  elephant  or  rhinoceros,  had  the  earthy  part  of  their  bones  been 
made  of  diamond,  might  have  been  as  agile  and  light  as  grasshoppers, 
and  other  animals  might  have  been  framed  far  more  magnificently 
colossal  than  any  that  walk  the  earth.  In  other  w^orlds  we  may, 
perhaps,  see  such  creations ;  a  creation  for  every  element,  and 
elements  infinite.     But  the  ai-chitectui-e  of  animals  Ixere,  is  appointed 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH.  37 

by  God  to  be  a  marble  architecture,  not  a  flint  nor  adamano  aichi- 
tecture  ;  and  all  manner  of  expedients  are  adopted  to  attain  tli4 
utmost  degree  of  strength  and  size  possible  under  that  great  limitation. 
The  jaw  of  the  ichthyosaurus  is  pieced  and  riveted,  the  leg  of  the 
megatherium  is  a  foot  thick,  and  the  head  of  the  myodon  has  a 
double  skull ;  we,  in  our  wisdom,  should,  doubtless,  have  given  the 
lizard  a  steel  jaw,  and  the  myodon  a  cast-iron  head])iece,  and  forgotten 
the  great  principle  to  which  all  creation  beai-s  witness,  that  order 
and  system  are  nobler  things  than  power.  But  God  shows  us  in 
Himself,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  not  only  authoritative  perfection, 
but  even  the  perfection  of  Obedience — an  obedience  to  His  own 
laws :  and  in  the  cumbrous  movement  of  those  unwieldiest  of  Ilis 
creatures  we  are  reminded,  even  in  His  divine  essence,  of  that  attri- 
bute of  uprightness  in  the  human  creature  "  that  sweareth  to  his 
own  hurt  and  changeth  not." 

XIV.  2nd.  Surface  Deceits.  These  may  be  generally  defined  as 
the  inducing  the  supposition  of  some  form  or  material  which  doc^ 
not  actually  exist;  as  commonly  in  the  painting  of  wood  to 
represent  marble,  or  in  the  painting  of  ornaments  in  deceptive 
rehef,  &c.  But  we  must  be  careful  to  observe,  that  the  evil  of  them 
consists  always  in  deiinitely  attempted  deception,  and  that  it  is  a  matter 
of  some  nicety  to  mark  the  point  where  deception  begins  or  ends. 

Thus,  for  instance,  the  roof  of  Milan  Cathedral  is  seemingly 
covered  with  elaborate  fan  tracery,  forcibly  enough  painted  to  enable 
it,  in  its  dark  and  removed  position,  to  deceive  a  careless  observer. 
This  is,  of  course,  gross  degradation  ;  it  destroys  much  of  the  dignity 
even  of  the  rest  of  the  building,  and  is  in  the  very  strongest  terms 
to  be  reprehended. 

The  roof  of  the  Sistine  Chapel  has  much  architectural  design  in 
grissaille  mingled  with  the  figmvs  of  its  fi-escoes  ;  and  the  eftect  is 
increase  of  dignity. 

In  what  lies  the  distinctive  character  ? 

In   two  points,  principally  : — First.     That  the  architecture  is  so 
closely  associated  with  the  figures,  and  has  so  gi-and  fellowship  with 
them  in  its  forms  and  cast  shadows,  that  both  are  at  once  felt  to  be 
of  a  piece  ;  and  as  the  figures  must  necessarily  bo  painted,  the  archi 
lecture  is  known  to  be  so  too.     There  is  thus  no  deception. 

Second.  That  so  great  a  painter  as  Michael  Angelo  would  always 
stop  short  in  such  minor  parts  of  his  design,  of  the  degree  of  viilgai 


38  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

force  which  would  be  necessary  to  induce  the  supposition  of  their 
reality ;  and,  strangely  as  it  may  sound,  would  never  paint  badly 
enough  to  deceive. 

But  thoug-h  right  and  wrong  are  thus  found  broadly  opposed  in 
works  severally  so  mean  and  so  mighty  as  the  roof  of  Milan  and  that 
of  the  Sistine,  there  are  works  neither  so  gTeat  nor  so  mean,  in  which 
the  limits  of  right  are  vaguely  defined,  and  will  need  some  care  to 
determine  ;  care  only,  however,  to  apply  accurately  the  broad  prin- 
ciple with  which  we  set  out,  that  no  form  nor  material  is  to  be 
deceptively  represented. 

XV.  E\idently,  then,  painting,  confessedly  such,  is  no  deception  : 
it  does  not  assert  any  material  whatever.  Whether  it  be  on  wood 
or  on  stone,  or,  as  will  naturally  be  supposed,  on  plaster,  does  not 
matter.  Whatever  the  material,  good  painting  makes  it  more 
precious  ;  nor  can  it  ever  be  said  to  deceive  respecting  the  ground 
of  which  it  gives  us  no  information.  To  cover  brick  A\ith  plaster, 
and  this  plaster  with  fresco,  is,  therefore  perfectly  legitimate  ;  and  as 
desirable  a  mode  of  decoration,  as  it  is  constant  in  the  great  periods. 
Verona  and  Venice  are  now  seen  deprived  of  more  than  half  their  former 
splendor ;  it  depended  far  more  on  their  frescoes  than  their  marbles. 
The  plaster,  in  this  case,  is  to  be  considered  as  the  gesso  ground  on 
panel  or  canvass.  But  to  cover  brick  with  cement,  and  to  divide 
this  cement  with  joints  that  it  may  look  like  stone,  is  to  tell  a  false- 
hood ;  and  is  Just  as  contemptible  a  procedure  as  the  other  is  noble. 

It  being  la\\'ful  to  paint  then,  is  it  lawful  to  paint  everything  ?  So 
long  as  the  painting  is  confessed — yes ;  but  if,  even  in  the  slightest 
degree,  the  sense  of  it  be  lost,  and  the  thing  painted  be  supposed 
real — no.  Let  us  take  a  few  instances.  In  the  Campo  Santo  at 
Pisa,  each  fresco  is  surrounded  with  a  border  composed  of  flat 
colored  patterns  of  gi'eat  elegance — no  part  of  it  in  attempted  relief. 
The  certainty  of  flat  surface  being  thus  secured,  the  figures,  though 
the  size  of  life,  do  not  deceive,  and  the  artist  thenceforward  is  at 
liberty  to  put  forth  his  whole  power,  and  to  lead  us  through  fields, 
and  groves,  and  depths  of  pleasant  landscape,  and  to  soothe  us  ^vith 
the  sweet  clearness  of  far  ofl"  sky,  and  yet  never  lose  the  severity  of 
his  primal  purpose  of  architectural  decoration. 

In  the  Camera  di  Correggio  of  San  LodoWco  at  Parma,  the 
trellises  of  ^^ne  shadow  the  walls,  as  if  with  an  actual  arbor ;  and 
the  troops  of  children,  peeping  through  the  oval  openings,  luscious 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRITTH.  39 

in  color  and  faint  in  liglit,  may  well  be  expected  every  instant  to  break 
through,  or  hide  behind  the  covert.  The  grace  of  their  attitudes, 
and  the  evident  greatness  of  the  whole  work,  mark  that  it  is  painting, 
and  barely  redeem  it  from  the  charge  of  falsehood ;  but  even  so 
saved,  it  is  utterly  unworthy  to  take  a  place  among  noble  or  legiti- 
mate architectural  decoration. 

In  the  cupola  of  the  duomo  of  Parma  the  same  painter  has  repre 
sented  the  Assumption  ^vith  so  much  deceptive  power,  that  he  has 
made  a  dome  of  some  thirty  feet  diameter  look  like  a  cloud-wrapt 
opening  in  the  seventh  heaven,  crowded  with  a  rushing  sea  of  angels- 
Is  this  wrong  ?  Not  so :  for  the  subject  at  once  precludes  the  possi 
bihty  of  deception.  We  might  have  taken  the  vines  for  a  veritable 
pergoda,  and  the  children  for  its  haunting  ragazzi ;  but  we  know  the 
stayed  clouds  and  moveless  angels  must  be  man's  work  ;  let  him  put 
his  utmost  strength  to  it  and  welcome,  he  can  enchant  us,  but  cannot 
betray. 

We  may  thus  apply  the  rule  to  the  highest,  as  well  as  the  art  of 
daily  occurrence,  always  remembering  that  more  is  to  be  forgiven  to 
the  great  painter  than  to  the  mere  decorative  workman  ;  and  this 
especially,  because  the  former,  even  in  deceptive  portions,  will  not 
trick  us  so  grossly ;  as  we  have  just  seen  in  Correggio,  where  a 
worse  painter  would  have  made  the  thing  look  like  hfe  at  once. 
There  is,  however,  in  room,  villa,  or  garden  decoration,  some  fitting 
admission  of  trickeries  of  this  kind,  as  of  jnctured  landscapes  at  the 
extremities  of  alleys  and  arcades,  and  ceiUngs  like  skies,  or  painted 
with  prolongations  upwards  of  the  architecture  of  the  walls,  which 
things  have  sometimes  a  certain  luxury  and  pleasureableness  in  places 
meant  for  idleness,  and  are  innocent  enough  as  long  as  they  are 
regarded  as  mere  toys. 

XVI.  Touching  the  false  representation  of  material,  the  question 
is  infinitely  more  simple,  and  the  law  more  sweeping ;  all  such  imi- 
tations are  utterly  base  and  inadmissible.  It  is  melancholy  to  think 
of  the  time  and  expense  lost  in  marbling  the  shop  fi'onts  of  London 
alone,  and  of  the  waste  of  our  resources  in  absolute  vanities,  in 
things  about  which  no  mortal  cares,  by  which  no  eye  is  ever  arrested, 
unless  painfully,  and  which  do  not  add  one  whit  to  comfort,  or 
cleanliness,  or  even  to  that  great  object  of  commercial  art — conspi- 
cuousness.  But  in  architecture  of  a  higher  rank,  how  much  more  ia 
it  to  be  condemned  ?     I  have  made  it  a  rule  in  the  present  work  not 


40  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

to  blame  specifier  Jy ;  but  I  may,  perhaps,  be  permitted,  while  I 
express  my  sincere  admiration  of  the  very  noble  entrance  and  general 
architecture  of  the  British  Museum,  to  express  also  my  regret  that 
the  noble  granite  foundation  of  the  stairct\se  should  be  mocked  at 
its  landing  by  an  imitation,  the  more  blameable  because  tolerably 
successful.  The  only  effect  of  it  is  to  cast  a  suspicion  upon  the  true 
stones  below,  and  upon  every  bit  of  granite  afterwards  encountered. 
One  feels  a  doubt,  after  it,  of  the  honesty  of  Memnon  himself.  But 
even  this,  however  derogatory  to  the  noble  architecture  around  it,  is 
less  painful  than  the  want  of  feeling  with  which,  in  our  cheap  modern 
churches,  we  suffer  the  wall  decorator  to  erect  about  the  altar  frame 
works  and  pediments  daubed  with  mottled  color,  and  to  dye  in  the 
same  fashions  such  skeletons  or  caricatures  of  columns  as  may 
emerge  above  the  pews  :  this  is  not  merely  bad  taste  ;  it  is  no  unim- 
portant or  excusable  error  which  brings  even  these  shadows  of  vanity 
and  falsehood  into  the  house  of  prayer.  The  first  condition  which 
just  feeling  requires  in  church  furnitm-e  is,  that  it  should  be  simple 
and  unaffected,  not  fictitious  nor  tawdry.  It  may  be  in  our  power 
to  make  it  beautiful,  but  let  it  at  least  be  pure ;  and  if  we  cannot 
permit  much  to  the  architect,  do  not  let  us  permit  anything  to  the 
upholsterer ;  if  we  keep  to  sohd  stone  and  solid  wood,  whitewashed, 
if  we  like,  for  cleanhness'  sake  (for  whitewash  has  so  often  been  used 
as  the  dress  of  noble  tliing-s  that  it  has  thence  received  a  kind .  of 
nobility  itself),  it  must  be  a  bad  design  indeed,  which  is  grossly 
offensive.  I  recollect  no  instance  of  a  want  of  sacred  character,  or 
of  any  marked  and  painful  ugliness,  in  the  simplest  or  the  most 
awkwardly  built  village  church,  where  stone  and  wood  were  roughly 
and  nakedly  used,  and  the  windows  latticed  with  white  glass.  But 
the  smoothly  stuccoed  walls,  the  flat  roofs  with  ventilator  ornaments, 
the  ban-ed  windows  \vith  jaundiced  borders  and  dead  gTound  square 
panes,  the  gilded  or  bronzed  wood,  the  painted  iron,  the  wretched 
upholstery  of  curtains  and  cushions,  and  pew  heads  and  altar  railings, 
and  Birmingham  metal  candlesticks,  and,  above  all,  the  gTcen  and 
yellow  sickness  of  the  false  marble — disguises  all,  observe  ;  falsehoods 
all — who  are  they  who  like  these  things  ?  who  defend  them  ?  who  do 
th(im  ?  I  have  never  spoken  to  any  one  who  did  like  them,  though 
to  many  who  thought  them  matters  of  no  consequence.  Perhaps 
not  to  rehgTon  (though  I  cannot  but  believe  that  there  are  many  to 
whom,  as  to  myself,  such  things  are  serious  obstacles  to  the  repos« 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH.  41 

of  mind  and  temper  wliich  slioiild  precede  devotional  exercises) ;  but 
to  the  general  tone  of  our  judgment  and  feeling — yes  ;  for  assuredly 
we  shall  regard,  with  tolerance,  if  not  with  affection,  whatever  forms 
of  material  things  we  have  been  in  the  habit  of  associating  with  our 
worship,  and  be  little  prepared  to  detect  or  blame  hypocrisy,  mean- 
ness, and  disguise  in  other  kinds  of  decoration,  when  we  suffer 
objects  belonging  to  the  most  solemn  of  all  services  to  be  tricked  out 
in  a  fashion  so  fictitious  and  unseemly. 

XVII.  Painting,  however,  is  not  the  only  mode  in  which  material 
may  be  concealed,  or  rather  simulated  ;  for  merely  to  conceal  is,  as 
we  have  seen,  no  wrong.  Whitewash,  for  instance,  though  often  (by 
no  means  always)  to  be  regretted  as  a  concealment,  is  not  to  be 
blamed  as  a  falsity.  It  shows  itself  for  what  it  is,  and  asserts 
nothing  of  what  is  beneath  it.  Gilding  has  become,  from  its  fre- 
quent use,  equally  innocent.  It  is  understood  for  what  it  is,  a  film 
merely,  and  is,  therefore,  allowable  to  any  extent.  I  do  not  say 
expedient :  it  is  one  of  the  most  abused  means  of  magnificence  w^e 
possess,  and  I  much  doubt  whether  any  use  we  ever  make  of  it, 
balances  that  loss  of  pleasure,  which,  from  the  fi-equent  sight  and 
perpetual  suspicion  of  it,  we  suffer  in  the  contemplation  of  anythino* 
that  is  verily  of  gold.  I  think  gold  was  meant  to  be  seldom  seen, 
and  to  be  admired  as  a  precious  thing ;  and  I  sometimes  wish  that 
truth  should  so  far  literally  prevail  as  that  all  should  be  gold  that 
glittered,  or  rather  that  nothing  should  glitter  that  was  not  gold. 
Nevertheless,  nature  herself  does  not  dispense  with  such  semblance, 
but  uses  light  for  it ;  and  I  have  too  great  a  love  for  old  and  saintly 
art  to  part  with  its  burnished  field,  or  radiant  nimbus ;  only  it  should 
be  used  with  respect,  and  to  express  magnificence,  or  sacredness,  and 
not  in  lavish  vanity,  or  in  sign  painting.  Of  its  expedience,  however, 
any  more  than  of  that  of  color,  it  is  not  here  the  place  to  speak ;  wo 
are  endeavoring  to  determine  what  is  lawful,  not  what  is  desirable. 
Of  other  and  less  common  modes  of  disguising  surface,  as  of  powder 
of  lapis  lazuli,  or  mosaic  imitations  of  colored  stones,  I  need  hardly 
speak.  The  rule  will  apply  to  all  alike,  that  whatever  is  pretended, 
is  wrong ;  commonly  enforced  also  by  the  exceeding  ugliness  and 
insufficient  ap])earance  of  such  methods,  as  lately  in  the  style  of  reno- 
vation by  which  half  the  houses  in  Venice  have  been  defaced,  the 
brick  covered  first  with  stucco,  and  tliis  painted  with  zigzag  veins 
in  imitation  of  alabaster.     But  there  is  one  more  form  of  architeo- 


42  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

tural  fiction,  wliicli  is  so  constant  in  the  great  penods  that  it  needs 
respectful  judgment.     I  mean  the  facing  of  brick  with  precious  stone. 

XVIII.  It  is  well  known,  that  what  is  meant  by  a  church's  being 
built  of  marble  is,  in  nearly  all  cases,  only  that  a  veneering  of  marble 
has  been  fastened  on  the  rough  brick  wall,  built  with  certain  projec- 
tions to  receive  it ;  and  that  what  appear  to  be  massy  stones,  are 
nothino;  more  than  external  slabs.- 

Now,  it  is  endent,  that,  in  this  case,  the  question  of  right  is  on 
the  same  ground  as  in  that  of  gilding.  If  it  be  clearly  understood 
that  a  marble  facing  does  not  pretend  or  imply  a  marble  wall,  there 
is  no  harm  in  it ;  and  a.s  it  is  also  evident  that,  when  very  precious 
stones  are  used,  as  jaspers  and  serpentines,  it  must  become,  not  only 
•an  extravagant  and  vain  increase  of  expense,  but  sometimes  an  actual 
impossibility,  to  obtain  mass  of  them  enough  to  build  with,  there  is 
no  resource  but  this  of  veneering ;  nor  is  there  anything  to  be  alleged 
against  it  on  the  head  of  durability,  such  work  having  been  by  expe- 
rience found  to  last  as  long,  and  in  as  perfect  condition,  as  any  kind 
of  masonry.  It  is,  therefore,  to  be  considered  as  simply  an  art  of 
mosaic  on  a  large  scale,  the  ground  being  of  brick,  or  any  other 
material ;  and  when  lovely  stones  are  to  be  obtained,  it  is  a  manner 
which  should  be  thoroughly  understood,  and  often  practised.  Never- 
theless, as  we  esteem  the  shaft  of  a  column  more  highly  for  its  being 
of  a  single  block,  and  as  we  do  not  regret  the  loss  of  substance  and 
value  which  there  is  in  things  of  solid  gold,  silver,  agate,  or  ivory ; 
so  I  think  that  walls  themselves  may  be  regarded  \\'ith  a  more  just 
complacency  if  they  are  known  to  be  all  of  noble  substance  ;  and 
that  rightly  weighing  the  demands  of  the  two  principles  of  which  we 
have  hitherto  spoken — Sacrifice  and  Truth,  we  should  sometimes 
rather  spare  external  ornament  than  diminish  the  unseen  value  and 
consistency  of  wdiat  we  do ;  and  I  beheve  that  a  better  manner  of 
design,  and  a  more  careful  and  studious,  if  less  abundant  decoration 
would  follow,  upon  the  consciousness  of  thoroughness  in  the  substance. 
And,  indeed,  this  is  to  be  remembered,  with  respect  to  aU  the  points 
we  have  examined  ;  that  while  we  have  traced  the  limits  of  license, 
we  have  not  fixed  those  of  that  high  rectitude  which  refuses  license. 
It  is  thus  true  that  there  is  no  falsity,  and  much  beauty  in  the  use 
of  external  color,  and  that  it  is  la\A-ful  to  paint  either  pictures  or 
patterns  on  whatever  surfaces  may  seem  to  need  enrichment.  But 
it  Is  not  less  true,  that  such  practices  are  essentially  unarchitectm-ai  • 


eviueiiuy   ii\j    ciJJv^i^Lio    A\.«ov/ii  M^i.^.^^-, 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTTI.  4S 

and  while  we  cannot  say  that  there  is  actual  danger  in  an  over  use 
of  them,  seeing  that  they  have  been  always  u>ed  most  lavishly  in  the 
times  of  most  noble  art,  yet  they  divide  the  work  into  two  parts  and 
kinds,  one  of  less  durability  than  the  other,  wliich  dies  away  from  it 
in  process  of  ages,  and  leaves  it,  unless  it  have  noble  qualities  of  its 
own,  naked  and  bare.  Tliat  enduring  noblesse  I  should,  therefo.^, 
call  trufy  architectural ;  and  it  is  not  until  this  has  been  secured 
that  the  accessory  power  of  painting  may  be  called  in,  for  the  delight 
of  the  immediate  time ;  nor  this,  as  I  think,  until  every  resource  of 
a  more  stable  kind  has  been  exhausted.  The  true  colors  of  arclii- 
tecture  are  those  of  natural  stone,  and  I  would  fain  see  these  taken 
advantage  of  to  the  full.  Every  variety  of  hue,  from  pale  yellow  to 
purple,  passing  through  orange,  red,  and  brown,  is  entirely  at  our 
command  ;  nearly  every  kind  of  green  and  gray  is  also  attainable  : 
and  \di\i  these,  and  pure  white,  what  harmonies  might  we  not 
achieve  ?  Of  stained  and  variegated  stone,  the  quantity  is  unlimited, 
the  kinds  innumerable  ;  where  brighter  colors  are  required,  let  glass, 
and  gold  protected  by  glass,  be  used  in  mosaic — a  kind  of  work  as 
durable  as  the  solid  stone,  and  incapable  of  losing  its  lustre  by  time 
— and  let  the  painter's  work  be  reserved  for  the  shadowed  loggia 
and  inner  chamber.  This  is  the  true  and  faithful  way  of  building  ; 
where  this  cannot  be,  the  device  of  external  coloring  may,  indeed,  be 
employed  without  dishonor  ;  but  it  must  be  A^nth  the  warning  reflec- 
tion, that  a  time  will  come  when  such  aids  must  pass  away,  and 
when  the  building  ^vill  be  judged  in  its  hfelessness,  dying  the  death 
of  the  dolphin.  Better  the  less  blight,  more  enduring  febric.  The 
transparent  alabasters  of  San  Miniato,  and  the  mosaics  of  St.  Mark's; 
are  more  warmly  filled,  and  more  bi-ightly  touched,  by  every  return 
of  morning  and  evening  rays  ;  while  the  hues  of  our  cathedrals  have 
died  like  the  iris  out  of  the  cloud ;  and  the  temples  whose  azure  and 
purple  once  flamed  above  the  Grecian  promontories,  stand  in  their 
faded  whiteness,  like  snows  which  the  sunset  has  left  cold. 

XIX.  The  last  form  of  fallacy  which  it  A\-ill  be  remembered  we 
had  to  deprecate,  was  the  substitution  of  cast  or  machine  work  for 
that  of  the  hand,  generally  expressible  as  Operative  Deceit. 

There  are  two  reasons,  both  weighty,  against  this  practice :  one, 
that  all  cast  and  macliine  work  is  bad,  as  work  ;  the  other,  that  it  is 
dishonest.  Of  its  badness,  I  shall  speak  in  another  pkice,  that  being 
e\adently  no  efficient  reason  against  its  use  when   other  cannot  be 


44  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

had.  Its  dishonesty,  ho\yever,  which,  to  my  mind,  is  of  the  grosse^it 
kind,  is,  I  think,  a  sufficient  reason  to  determine  absolute  and 
unconditional  rejection  of  it. 

Ornament,  as  I  have  often  before  observed,  has  two  entirely 
distinct  sources  of  agreeableness  :  one,  that  of  the  abstract  beauty 
of  its  forms,  which,  for  the  present,  we  will  suppose  to  be  the  samo 
whether  they  come  from  the  hand  or  the  machine ;  the  other,  the 
sense  of  human  labor  and  cai-e  spent  upon  it.  How  gi'eat  this  latter 
influence  we  may  perhaps  judge,  by  considering  that  there  is  not  a 
cluster  of  weeds  growing  in  any  cranny  of  ruin  which  has  not  a 
beauty  in  all  respects  nearly  equal,  and,  in  some,  immeasurably 
superior,  to  that  of  the  most  elaborate  sculpture  of  its  stones  :  and 
that  all  our  interest  in  the  carved  work,  our  seiLse  of  its  richness, 
though  it  is  tenfold  less  rich  than  the  knots  of  grass  beside  it ;  of  its 
delicacy,  though  it  is  a  thousandfold  less  dehcate  ;  of  its  admirable- 
ness,  though  a  millionfold  less  admirable  ;  results  from  our 
consciousness  of  its  being  the  work  of  poor,  clumsy,  toilsome  man. 
Its  true  dehghtfulness  depends  on  our  discovering  in  it  the  record 
of  thoughts,  and  intents,  and  trials,  and  heart-breakings — of 
recoveries  and  jovfulnesses  of  success :  all  this  can  be  traced  by  a 
practised  eye  ;  but,  granting  it  even  obscure,  it  is  presumed  or 
understood ;  and  in  that  is  the  worth  of  the  thing,  just  as  much  as 
the  worth  of  anything  else  we  call  precious.  The  worth  of  a 
diamond  is  simply  the  understanding  of  the  time  it  must  take  to 
look  for  it  before  it  is  found  ;  and  the  worth  of  an  ornament  is  the 
time  it  must  take  before  it  can  be  cut.  It  has  an  intrinsic  value 
besides,  which  the  diamond  has  not  (tor  a  diamond  has  no  more 
real  beauty  than  a  piece  of  glass) ;  but  I  do  not  speak  of  that  at 
present ;  I  place  the  two  on  the  same  ground ;  and  I  suppose  that 
hand-wrought  ornament  can  no  more  be  generally  known  from 
machine  work,  than  a  diamond  can  be  known  from  paste ;  nay,  that 
the  latter  may  deceive,  for  a  moment,  the  mason's,  as  the  other  the 
jeweller's,  eye ;  and  that  it  can  be  detected  only  by  the  closest 
examination.  Yet  exactly  as  a  woman  of  feeling  would  not  wear 
false  jewels,  so  would  a  builder  of  honor  disdain  false  ornaments. 
The  using  of  them  is  just  as  downright  and  inexcusable  a  lie.  You 
use  that  which  pretends  to  a  worth  which  it  has  not ;  which  pretends 
to  have  cost,  and  to  be,  what  it  did  not,  and  is  not ;  it  is  an 
imposition,  a  vulgarity,  an  impertinence,  and  a  sin.     Down  with  it 


THE    LAMP    OF     IRUTH.  45 

to  the  ground,  jirrind  it  to  powder,  leave  its  ragged  place  upon  the 
wall,  rather ;  you  have  not  paid  for  it,  you  have  no  business  with 
it,  you  do  not  want  it.  Nobody  wants  ornaments  in  this  world,  but 
everybody  wants  integrity.  All  the  fair  dexices  that  ever  were 
fancied,  are  not  worth  a  he.  Leave  your  walls  as  bare  as  a  planed 
board,  or  build  them  of  baked  mud  and  chopped  straw,  if  need  be ; 
but  do  not  rough-cast  thorn  with  falsehood. 

This,  then,  being  our  general  law,  and  I  hold  it  for  a  more 
imperative  one  than  any  other  I  have  asserted ;  and  this  kind  of 
dishonesty  the  meanest,  as  the  least  necessary ;  for  ornament  is  an 
(extravagant  and  inessential  thing  ;  and,  therefore,  if  fallacious, 
utterly  base — this,  I  say,  being  our  general  law,  there  are, 
nevertheless,  certain  exceptions  respecting  particular  substances  and 
their  uses. 

XX.  Tlius  in  the  use  of  bnck  :  since  that  is  known  to  be  originally 
moulded,  there  is  no  reason  why  it  should  not  be  moulded  into 
di\erse  forms.  It  will  never  be  supposed  to  have  been  cut,  and, 
therefore,  ^\ill  cause  no  deception  ;  it  will  have  only  the  credit  it 
deserves.  In  flat  countries,  far  from  any  quarry  of  stone,  cast  brick 
may  be  legitimately,  and  most  successfully,  used  in  decoration,  and 
that  elaborate,  and  even  refined.  The  brick  mouldings  of  the 
Palazzo  Pepoli  at  Bologna,  and  those  which  run  round  the  market- 
}ilace  of  Vercelh,  are  among  the  richest  in  Italy.  So  also,  tile  and 
])orcehiin  work,  of  which  the  former  is  grotesquely,  but  successfully, 
emjiloyed  in  the  domestic  architecture  of  France,  colored  tiles  being 
inserted  in  the  diamond  spaces  between  the  crossing  timbers ;  and 
the  latter  admirably  in  Tuscany,  in  external  bas-rehefs,  by  the  Robbia 
family,  in  which  works,  while  we  cannot  but  sometimes  regret  the 
useless  and  ill-arranged  colors,  we  would  by  no  means  blame  the 
employment  of  a  material  which,  whatever  its  defects,  excels  ever}- 
other  in  permanence,  and,  perhaps,  requires  even  greater  skill  in  its 
management  than  marble.  For  it  is  not  the  material,  but  the 
absence  of  the  human  labor,  which  makes  the  thing  worthless  ;  and 
a  piece  of  terra  cotta,  or  of  plaster  of  Paris,  which  has  been  ^^Tought 
by  human  hand,  is  worth  all  the  stone  in  Carrara,  cut  by  machinery. 
It  is,  indeed,  possible,  and  even  usual,  for  men  to  sink  into  machines 
themselves,  so  that  even  hand-work  has  all  the  characters  of  meeha- 
nLsm  ;  of  the  ditference  between  li%-ing  and  dead  hand-work  I  shiill 
speak  presently ;  all  that  I  ask  at  present  is,  what  it  is  always  in  oui 


46  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

power  to  secure — the  confession  of  what  we  ha',  e  done,  a&d  wliaf 
we  have  given  ;  so  that  when  we  use  stone  at  all,  since  all  stone  ia 
naturally  supposed  to  be  carved  by  hand,  we  must  not  carve  it  by 
machinery  ;  neither  must  we  use  any  artificial  stone  cast  into  shape, 
nor  any  stucco  ornaments  of  the  color  of  stone,  or  which  might  in 
any  wise  be  mistaken  for  it,  as  the  stucco  moukhng-s  in  the  cortile 
of  the  Palazzo  Veccliio  at  Florence,  which  cast  a  shame  and  suspicion 
over  every  part  of  the  building.  But  for  ductile  and  fusible 
materials,  as  clay,  iron,  and  bronze,  since  these  ^^'ill  usually  be 
supposed  to  have  been  cast  or  stamped,  it  is  at  our  pleasure  to 
employ  them  as  we  will  ;  remembering  that  they  become  precious, 
or  otherwise,  just  in  projDortion  to  the  hand-work  upon  them,  or  to 
the  clearness  of  their  reception  of  the  hand-work  of  their  mould. 

But  I  beheve  no  cause  to  have  been  more  active  in  the  degi-adation 
of  our  natural  feehng  for  beauty,  than  the  constant  use  of  cast  iron 
ornaments.  The  common  iron  work  of  the  middle  ages  was  as 
simple  as  it  was  effective,  composed  of  leafage  cut  flat  out  of  sheet 
iron,  and  t^\isted  at  the  workman's  vdW.  No  ornaments,  on  the 
contrary,  are  so  cold,  clumsy,  and  \'ulgar,  so  essentially  incapable  of 
a  fine  line,  or  shadow,  as  those  of  cast  iron ;  and  while,  on  the  score 
of  truth,  we  can  hardly  allege  anything  against  them,  since  they  are 
always  distinguishable,  at  a  glance,  fi-om  wrought  and  hammered 
work,  and  stand  only  for  what  they  are,  yet  I  feel  very  strongly  that 
there  is  no  hope  of  the  progress  of  the  arts  of  any  nation  wliich 
indulges  in  these  vulgar  and  cheap  substitutes  for  real  decoration. 
Their  inefficiency  and  paltriness  I  shall  endeavor  to  show  more 
conclusively  in  another  place,  enforcing  only,  at  present,  the  general 
conclusion  that,  if  even  honest  or  allowable,  they  are  things  in  which 
we  can  never  take  just  pride  or  pleasure,  and  must  never  be  employed 
in  any  place  wherein  they  might  either  themselves  obtain  the  credit 
of  being  other  and  better  than  they  are,  or  be  associated  with  the 
downright  work  to  which  it  would  be  a  disgrace  to  be  found  in  their 
company. 

Such  are,  I  beheve,  the  three  principal  kinds  of  fallacy  by  which 
architecture  is  hable  to  be  corrupted ;  ther  t  are,  however,  other  and 
more  subtle  forms  of  it,  against  which  it  is  less  easy  to  guard  by 
definite  law,  than  by  the  watchfulness  of  a  manly  and  unaffected 
spirit.  For,  as  it  has  been  above  noticed,  there  are  cei-tain  kinds  of 
deception  wliich  extend  to  impressions   and  ideas  only;  of  which 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH,  47 

some  avr-,  indeed,  of  a  noble  use,  as  that  above  referred  to,  the 
arboresc  wi  look  of  lofty  Gothic  aisles;  but  of  wliich  the  most  part 
liave  so  much  of  legerdemain  and  trickery  about  them,  that  they 
will  lower  ;tny  style  in  which  they  considerably  prevail ;  and  they 
are  likely  to  prevail  when  once  they  are  admitted,  being  apt  to  catch 
Uie  fancy  alike  of  uninventive  architects  and  feelingless  spectators ; 
just  as  mean  and  shallow  minds  are,  in  other  matters,  delighted 
with  the  sense  of  over-reaching,  or  tickled  with  the  conceit  of 
detecting  the  intention  to  over-reach ;  and  when  subtleties  of  this 
kind  are  accompanied  by  the  display  of  such  dextrous  stone-cutting, 
or  architectural  sleight  of  hand,  as  may  become,  even  by  itselt^  a 
subject  of  admiration,  it  is  a  great  chance  if  the  pui-suit  of  them  do 
not  gradually  draw  us  away  from  all  regard  and  care  for  the  nobler 
character  of  the  art,  and  end  in  its  total  paralysis  or  extinction. 
And  against  this  there  is  no  guarding,  but  by  stern  disdain  of  all 
chsplay  of  dexterity  and  ingenious  device,  and  by  putting  the  whole 
force  of  our  fancy  into  the  arrangement  of  masses  and  forms,  caring 
no  more  how  these  masses  and  forms  are  wrought  out,  than  a  great 
painter  cares  which  way  liis  pencil  strikes.  It  would  be  easy  to  give 
many  instances  of  the  danger  of  these  tricks  and  vanities  ;  but  I 
shall  confine  myself  to  the  examination  of  one  which  has,  as  I  think, 
been  the  cause  of  the  fall  of  Gothic  architecture  throughout  Europe. 
I  mean  the  system  of  intei"sectional  moulding-s,  which,  on  account 
of  its  great  importance,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  general  reader,  I 
may,  perhaps,  be  pardoned  for  exijlaining  elementarily. 

XXI.  I  must,  in  the  lirst  place,  however,  refer  to  Professor  Willis's 
account  of  the  origin  of  tracery,  given  in  the  sixth  chapter  of  his 
Aichitecture  of  the  Middle  Ages ;  since  the  publication  of  which  I 
have  been  not  a  little  amazed  to  hear  of  any  attempts  made  to 
resuscitate  the  inexcusably  absm*d  theory  of  its  deri\ation  from 
imitated  vegetable  form — inexcusably,  I  say,  because  the  smallest 
acquiuntance  with  early  Gotliic  architecture  would  have  informed 
the  supporters  of  that  theory  of  the  simple  fact,  that,  exactly  in 
proportion  to  the  antiquity  of  the  work,  the  imitation  of  such 
organic  forms  is  less,  and  in  the  earliest  examples  does  not  exist  at 
all.  There  cannot  be  the  shadow  of  a  question,  m  the  mind  of  a 
person  fomiliarised  with  any  single  series  of  consecutive  examjiies, 
that  tracery  arose  from  the  gradual  enlargement  of  the  penetrations 
of  the  shield  of  stone  which,  usually  supported  by  a  central  piiiar, 


48  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

occupied  the  head  of  early  windows.  Professor  Wilhs,  perhaps, 
confines  his  observations  somewhat  too  absolutely  to  the  double  sub- 
arch.  I  have  given,  in  Plate  VII.  fig.  2.,  an  interesting  case  of  rude 
penetration  of  a  high  and  simply  trefoiled  shield,  from  the  church 
of  the  Eremitani  at  Padua.  But  the  more  frequent  and  typical 
form  is  that  of  the  double  sub-arch,  decorated  with  various  piercings 
of  the  space  between  it  and  the  superior  arch  ;  with  a  simple  trefoil 
under  a  round  arch,  in  the  Abbaye  aux  Hommes,  Caen^  (Plate  III. 
fig.  1.) ;  ^vith  a  very  beautifully  proportioned  quatrefoil  in  the 
triforium  of  Eu,  and  that  of  the  choir  of  Lisieux ;  with  quatrefoils, 
sixfoils,  and  septfoils,  in  the  transept  towers  of  Rouen  (Plate  III.  fig. 
2.) ;  with  a  trefoil  awkwardly,  and  very  small  quatrefoil  above,  at 
Coutances  (Plate  III.  fig.  3.);  then,  with  muhiplications  of  the 
same  figures,  pointed  or  round,  gi^'ing  very  clumsy  shapes  of  the 
intermediate  stone  (fig.  4.,  from  one  of  the  nave  chapels  of  Rouen,  fig. 
6.,  fi-om  one  of  the  nave  chapels  of  Bayeux),  and  finally,  by  thinning 
out  the  stony  ribs,  reaching  conditions  h*ke  that  of  the  glorious 
typical  form  of  the  clerestory  of  the  apse  of  Beauvais  (fig.  6.). 

XXII.  Now,  it  will  be  noticed  that,  during  the  whole  of  this 
process,  the  attention  is  kept  fixed  on  the  forms  of  the  penetrations, 
that  is  to  say,  of  the  lights  as  seen  fi-om  the  interior,  not  of  the 
intermediate  stone.  All  the  grace  of  the  ^\'indow  is  in  the  outhne 
of  its  light ;  and  I  have  drawn  all  these  traceries  as  seen  from  within, 
in  order  to  show  the  effect  of  the  hght  thus  treated,  at  fii-st  in  far 
off  and  separate  stars,  and  then  gradually  enlarging,  approaching, 
until  they  come  and  stand  over  us,  as  it  were,  filhng  the  whole 
space  with  their  effulgence.  And  it  is  in  this  pause  of  the  star,  that 
we  have  the  great,  pure,  and  perfect  form  of  French  Gothic  ;  it  was 
at  the  instant  when  the  rudeness  of  the  intermediate  space  had  been 
finally  conquered,  when  the  hght  had  expanded  to  its  fullest,  and  yet 
had  not  lost  its  radiant  unity,  principahty,  and  \isible  fii'st  causing 
of  the  whole,  that  we  have  the  most  exquisite  feeling  and  most 
faultless  judgments  in  the  management  ahke  of  the  tracery  and 
decorations.  I  have  given,  in  Plate  IX.,  an  exquisite  example  of  it, 
from  a  panel  decoration  of  the  buttresses  of  the  north  door  of 
Kouen  ;  and  in  order  that  the  reader  may  undei-stand  what  truly  fine 
Gothic  work  is,  and  how  nobly  it  unites  fantasy  and  law,  as  well  as 
for  our  immediate  purpose,  it  wiU  be  well  that  he  should  examine  its 
sections  and  mouldings  in  detail  (they  are  described  in  the  fourtli 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH.  49 

Chapter,  §  xxvii.),  and  that  the  more  carefully,  becaase  this  desi^ 
belongs  to  a  period  in  which  the  most  important  change  took  place 
in  the  spirit  of  Gothic  architecture,  which,  perhaps,  ever  resulted 
from  the  natural  progress  of  any  art.  That  tracery  marks  a  pause 
between  the  laying  aside  of  one  great  ruling  principle,  and  the  taking 
up  of  another ;  a  pause  as  marked,  as  clear,  as  conspicuous  to  the 
distant  \'iew  of  after  times,  as  to  the  distant  glance  of  the  traveller 
is  the  cuhninating  ridge  of  the  mountain  chain  over  which  he  has 
passed.  It  was  the  gi-eat  watershed  of  Gothic  art.  Before  it,  all 
had  been  ascent ;  after  it,  all  was  dechne ;  both,  indeed,  by  winding 
paths  and  varied  slopes ;  both  interrupted,  like  the  gradual  rise  and 
1^11  of  the  passes  of  the  Alps,  by  great  mountain  outliers,  isolated  or 
branching  from  the  central  chain,  and  by  retrogi-ade  or  parallel 
directions  of  the  valleys  of  access.  But  the  track  of  the  human 
mind  is  traceable  up  to  that  glorious  ridge,  in  a  continuous  hne,  and 
thence  downwards.     Like  a  silver  zone — 

"  Flung  about  carelessly,  it  shines  afar. 
Catching  the  eye  in  many  a  broken  link. 
In  many  a  turn  and  traverse,  as  it  glides. 
And  oft  above,  and  oft  below,  appears — 
*         *         *         *         to  him  who  journeys  up 
As  though  it  were  another." 

And  at  that  point,  and  that  instant,  reaching  the  place  that  was 
nearest  heaven,  the  builders  looked  back,  for  the  last  time,  to  the 
•way  by  which  they  had  come,  and  the  scenes  through  which  their 
early  course  had  passed.  They  turned  away  from  them  and  their 
mornins:  Uo^ht,  and  descended  towards  a  new  horizon,  for  a  time  in 
the  warmth  of  western  sun,  but  plunging  with  every  forward  st<^p 
'jito  more  cold  and  melancholy  shade. 

XXIII.  The  change  of  which  I  speak,  is  expressible  in  few  words ; 
but  one  more  important,  more  radically  influential,  could  not  be. 
It  was  the  substitution  of  the  liiie  for  the  mass,  as  the  element  of 
decoration. 

AVe  have  seen  the  mode  in  which  the  openings  or  penetration  of 
the  window  expanded,  until  what  were,  at  first,  awkward  forms  or 
intermediate  stone,  became  delicate  lines  of  tracerv* :  and  I  have 
been  careful  in  pointing  out  the  peculiar  attention  bestowed  on  the 
proportion  and  decoration  of  the  mouldings  of  the  window  at  Rouen, 


50  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

in  Plate  IX.,  as  compared  %\ith  earlier  mouldings,  because  that 
beauty  and  care  are  singularly  significant.  They  mark  that  the 
traceries  had  caught  the  eye  of  the  architect.  Up  to  that  time,  up 
to  the  very  last  instant  in  which  the  reduction  and  thinning  of  the 
intervening  stone  was  consummated,  his  eye  had  been  on  the  open- 
ings only,  on  the  stars  of  light.  He  did  not  care  about  the  stone ; 
a  rude  border  of  moulding  was  all  he  needed,  it  was  the  penetrating 
shape  which  he  was  watching.  But  when  that  shape  had  received 
its  last  possible  expansion,  and  when  the  stone-work  became  an 
arrangement  of  graceful  and  parallel  lines,  that  arrangement,  like 
some  form  in  a  picture,  unseen  and  accidentally  developed,  struck 
suddenly,  ine^•itably,  on  the  sight.  It  had  literally  not  been  seen 
before.  It  flashed  out  in  an  instant,  as  an  independent  form.  It 
became  a  feature  of  the  work.  The  architect  took  it  under  his  care, 
thought  over  it,  and  distributed  its  members  as  we  see. 

Now,  the  great  pause  w^as  at  the  moment  when  the  space  and 
the  dividing  stone-work  were  both  equally  considered.  It  did  not 
last  fifty  years.  The  forms  of  the  tracery  were  seized  with  a  childish 
delight  in  the  novel  source  of  beauty  ;  and  the  intervening  space 
was  cast  aside,  as  an  element  of  decoration,  for  ever.  I  have  con- 
fined myself,  in  following  this  change,  to  the  window,  as  the  feature 
in  which  it  is  clearest.  But  the  transition  is  the  same  in  every 
member  of  architecture ;  and  its  importance  can  hardly  be  under- 
stood, unless  we  take  the  pains  to  trace  it  in  the  universality  of 
which  illustrations,  irrelevant  to  our  present  purpose,  will  be  found 
in  the  third  Chapter.  I  pursue  here  the  question  of  truth,  relating 
to  the  treatment  of  the  mouldings. 

XXIV.  The  reader  wdll  observe  that,  up  to  the  last  expansion  of 
the  penetrations,  the  stone- work  was  necessarily  considered,  as  it 
actually  is,  stiffs  and  unyielding.  It  was  so,  also,  during  the  pause 
of  which  I  have  spoken,  when  the  forms  of  the  tracery  were  still 
severe  and  pure ;  dehcate  indeed,  but  perfectly  firm. 

At  the  close  of  the  period  of  pause,  the  first  sign  of  serious 
change  was  like  a  low  breeze,  passing  through  the  emaciated  tracery, 
and  making  it  tremble.  It  began  to  undulate  like  the  threads  of  a 
cobweb  lifted  by  the  wind.  It  lost  its  essence  as  a  structure  of 
stone.  Reduced  to  the  slenderness  of  threads,  it  began  to  be 
considered  as  possessing  also  their  flexibihty.  The  ai'chitect  was 
pleased  with  this  his  new  fancy,  and  set  himself  to  carry  it  out ; 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH.  61 

and  in  a  little  time,  the  bars  of  tracery  were  caused  to  appear  to  th« 
eye  as  if  they  had  been  woven  together  Hke  a  net.  This  was  a 
change  which  sacrificed  a  great  principle  of  truth  ;  it  sacrificed  the 
expression  of  the  qualities  of  the  material ;  and,  however  delightful 
its  results  in  their  first  develo[)ments,  it  was  ultimately  ruinous. 

For,  observe  the  difference  between  the  suj)position  of  ductility, 
and  that  of  elastic  structure  noticed  above  in  the  resemblance  to  tree 
form.  That  resemblance  was  not  sought,  but  necessary  ;  it  resulted 
from  the  natural  conditions  of  strength  in  the  pier  or  trunk,  and 
slenderness  in  the  ribs  or  branches,  while  many  of  the  other  sug- 
gested conditions  of  resemblance  were  perfectly  true.  A  tree  branch, 
though  in  a  certain  sense  flexible,  is  not  ductile  ;  it  is  as  firm  in  its 
own  form  as  the  rib  of  stone  ;  both  of  them  will  yield  up  to  certain 
hmits,  both  of  them  breaking  when  those  hmits  are  exceeded ;  while 
the  tree  trunk  will  bend  no  more  than  the  stone  pillar.  But  when 
the  tracery  is  assumed  to  be  as  pelding  as  a  silken  cord  ;  when  the 
whole  fragility,  elasticity,  and  weight  of  the  material  are  to  the  eye, 
if  not  in  terms,  denied ;  when  all  the  art  of  the  architect  is  apphed 
to  disprove  the  first  conditions  of  his  working,  and  the  first  attributes 
of  his  materials  ;  this  is  a  deliberate  treachery,  only  redeemed  from 
the  charge  of  direct  falsehood  by  the  \isibility  of  the  stone  surface, 
and  degrading  all  the  traceries  it  aftects  exactly  in  the  degree  of  its 
presence. 

XXV.  But  the  declining  and  morbid  taste  of  the  later  architects, 
was  not  satisfied  with  thus  much  deception.  They  were  delighted 
with  the  subtle  charm  they  had  created,  and  thought  only  of  in- 
creasing its  power.  The  next  step  was  to  consider  and  represent 
the  tracery,  as  not  only  ductile,  but  penetrable  ;  and  when  two 
moulding-s  met  each  other,  to  manage  their  intei-section,  so  that  one 
should  appear  to  pass  through  the  other,  retaining  its  independence  ; 
or  when  two  ran  parallel  to  each  other,  to  represent  the  one  as 
partly  contained  within  the  other,  and  partly  apparent  above  it. 
This  form  of  falsity  wtis  that  which  crushed  the  art.  The  flexible 
traceries  were  often  beautiful,  though  they  were  ignoble ;  but  the 
penetrated  traceries,  rendered,  as  tl<o\  finally  were,  merely  the 
means  of  exhibiting  the  dexterity  of  ; ''"i  *tone-cutter,  annihilated 
both  the  beauty  and  dignity  of  the  Gothic  types.  A  system  so 
momentous  in  its  consequences  deserves  some  detailed  examination. 

XXVI.  In  the  chawing  of  the  shafts  of  the  door  at  Lisieux,  undei 


52  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

the  spandril,  in  Plate  VII.,  the  reader  vdW  see  the  mode  of  managing 
the  intersection  of  similar  mouldings,  which  was  universal  in  the 
great  periods.  They  melted  into  each  other,  and  became  one  at 
the  point  of  crossing,  or  of  contact ;  and  even  the  suggestion  of  so 
sharp  intersection  as  this  of  Lisieux  is  usually  avoided  (this  design 
being,  of  coui-se,  only  a  pointed  form  of  the  earlier  Norman  arcade, 
in  which  the  arches  are  interlaced,  and  lie  each  over  the  preceding, 
an.l  under  the  folloAAing,  one,  as  in  Anselm's  tower  at  Canterbury), 
since,  in  the  plurality  of  designs,  when  mouldings  meet  each  other, 
they  coincide  through  some  considerable  portion  of  their  curves, 
meeting  by  contact,  rather  than  by  intersection ;  and  at  the  point  of 
coincidence  the  section  of  each  separate  moulding  becomes  common 
to  the  two  thus  melted  into  each  other.  Thus,  in  the  junction  of 
the  circles  of  the  A\'indow  of  the  Palazzo  Foscari,  Plate  VIIL,  given 
accurately  in  fig.  8.  Plate  IV.,  the  section  across  the  hne  s,  is  exactly 
the  same  as  that  across  any  break  of  the  separated  moulding  above, 
as  ~s.  It  sometimes,  however,  happens,  that  two  different  mouldings 
meet  each  other.  This  was  seldom  permitted  in  the  great  periods, 
and,  when  it  took  place,  was  most  awkwardly  managed.  Fig.  1. 
Plate  IV.  gives  the  junction  of  the  moulding-s  of  the  gable  and 
vertical,  in  the  window  of  the  spi?'e  of  Salisbury.  That  of  the  gabla 
Is  composed  of  a  single,  and  that  of  the  vertical  of  a  double  cavctto, 
decorated  with  ball-flowers  ;  and  the  larger  single  moulding  swallows 
up  one  of  the  double  ones,  and  pushes  forward  among  the  smaller 
balls  with  the  most  blundering  and  clumsy  simplicity.  In  compar- 
ing the  sections  it  is  to  be  observed  that,  in  the  upper  one,  the  line 
a  b  represents  an  actual  vertical  in  the  plane  of  the  window ;  while, 
in  the  lower  one,  the  line  e  d  represents  the  horizontal,  in  the  plane 
of  the  window,  indicated  by  the  perspective  line  d  e. 

XXVII.  The  very  awkwardness  with  which  such  occurrences  of 
difficulty  are  met  by  the  earlier  builder,  marks  his  dislike  of  the 
system,  and  unwilhngness  to  atti-act  the  eye  to  such  arrangements. 
There  is  another  very  clumsy  one,  in  the  junction  of  the  upper  and 
sub-arches  of  the  triforium  of  Salisbury  ;  but  it  is  kept  in  the  shade, 
and  all  the  prominent  junctions  are  of  mouldings  like  each  other, 
and  managed  with  perfect  simplicity.  But  so  soon  as  the  attention 
of  the  builders  became,  as  we  have  just  seen,  fixed  upon  the  lines 
of  mouldings  instead  of  Jie  enclosed  spaces,  those  lines  began  to 
preserve  an  independent  existence  wherever  they  met ;  and  different 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH.  58 

mouldings  were  studiously  associated,  in  order  to  obtain  variety  oi 
intersectional  line.  We  must,  however,  do  the  late  builders  th« 
justice  to  note  that,  in  one  case,  the  habit  grew  out  of  a  feeUng  of 
proportion,  more  refined  than  that  of  earher  workmen.  It  shows 
itself  first  in  the  bases  of  divided  pillars,  or  arch  mouldings,  whose 
smaller  shafts  had  originally  bases  formed  by  the  continued  base  of 
the  central,  or  other  larger,  columns  with  which  they  were  grouped ; 
but  it  being  felt,  when  the  eye  of  the  architect  became  fiistidious, 
that  the  dimension  of  mouldinir  which  was  riccht  for  the  base 
of  a  large  shaft,  was  wrong  for  that  of  a  small  one,  each  shaft  had 
an  independent  bjuse ;  at  first,  those  of  the  smaller  died  simply 
down  on  that  of  the  larger ;  but  when  the  vertical  sections  of  both 
became  complicated,  the  bases  of  the  smaller  shafts  were  considered 
to  exist  within  those  of  the  larger,  and  the  phices  of  their 
emergence,  on  this  supposition,  were  calculated  with  the  utmost 
nicety,  and  cut  with  singular  precision  ;  so  that  an  elaborate  late 
base  of  a  divided  column,  as,  for  instance,  of  those  in  the  nave  of 
Abbeville,  looks  exactly  as  if  its  smaller  shafts  had  all  been  finished 
to  the  gTound  first,  each  with  its  complete  and  intricate  base,  and  then 
the  comprehending  base  of  the  central  pier  had  been  moulded  over 
them  in  clay,  leaving  their  points  and  angles  sticking  out  here  and 
there,  like  the  edges  of  sharp  crystals  out  of  a  nodule  of  earth. 
The  exhibition  of  technical  dexterity  in  work  of  this  kind  is  often 
marvellous,  the  strangest  possible  shapes  of  sections  being  <  alculated 
to  a  hair's-breadth,  and  the  occurrence  of  the  under  and  emero-ent 
forms  being  rendered,  even  in  places  where  they  are  so  slight  vhat 
they  can  hardly  be  detected  but  by  the  touch.  It  is  impossible  to 
render  a  very  elaborate  example  of  this  kind  intelligible,  without 
some  fifty  measured  sections;  but  fig.  6.  Plate  IV.  is  a  very 
interesting  and  simple  one,  from  the  west  gate  of  Rouen.  It  is  part 
of  the  base  of  one  of  the  narrow  piei's  between  its  principal  niches.  The 
square  column  A:,  having  a  base  with  the  profile  p  r,  is  supposed  to 
contain  vAi\\\\\  itself  another  similar  one,  set  diagonally,  and  lifted  so 
fju-  above  the  inclosing  one,  j\s  that  the  recessed  part  of  its  profile 
p  r  shall  fall  behind  the  projecting  part  of  the  outer  one.  The  angle 
of  its  upper  portion  exactly  meets  the  plajie  of  the  side  of  the  upper 
inclosing  shaft  4,  and  would,  therefore,  not  be  seen,  unless  two 
vertical  cuts  were  made  to  exhibit  it,  which  form  two  dark  lines  the 
whole  way  up  the  shaft.     Two  small  pilasters  are  run,  like  fastening 


54  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

stitches,  through  the  junction,  on  the  front  of  the  shafts.  The 
sections  k  n  taken  respectively  at  the  levels  Ic,  n,  will  explain  the 
hypothetical  construction  of  the  whole.  Fig.  7.  is  a  base,  or  joint 
lather,  (for  passages  of  this  form  occur  again  and  again,  on  the 
shafts  of  flamboyant  work,)  of  one  of  the  smallest  piers  of  the 
})edostals  which  supported  the  lost  statues  of  the  porch  ;  its  section 
below  would  be  the  same  as  n,  and  its  construction,  after  what  has 
been  said  of  the  other  base,  ^\ill  be  at  once  perceived. 

XXVIII.  There  was,  however,  in  this  kind  of  involution,  much  to 
be  admired  as  well  as  reprehended,  the  proportions  of  quantities 
were  always  as  beautiful  as  they  were  intricate ;  and,  though  the 
lines  of  intersection  were  harsh,  they  were  exquisitely  opposed  to 
the  flower- work  of  the  interposing  moulding-s.  But  the  fancy  did 
not  stop  here  ;  it  rose  from  the  bases  into  the  arches  ;  and  there,  not 
finding  room  enough  for  its  exhibition,  it  withdrew  the  capitals 
from  the  heads  even  of  cylindrical  shafts,  (we  "cannot  but  admire, 
Avliile  we  regi'et,  the  boldness  of  the  men  who  could  defy  the 
authoi-itv  and  custom  of  all  the  nations  of  the  earth  for  a  space  of 
some  three  thousand  years,)  in  order  that  the  arch  mouldings  might 
appear  to  emerge  from  the  pillar,  as  at  its  base  they  had  been  lost 
in  it,  and  not  to  terminate  on  the  abacus  of  the  capital ;  then  they 
ran  the  mouldings  across  and  through  each  other,  at  the  point  of 
the  arch  ;  and  finally,  not  finding  their  natural  directions  enough  to 
furnish  as  many  occasions  of  intersection  as  they  wished,  bent  them 
hither  and  thither,  and  cut  oft'  their  ends  short,  when  they  had 
pass-,-d  the  point  of  intersection.  Fig.  2.  Plate  IV.,  is  part  of  a  flying 
buttress  from  the  apse  of  St.  Gervais  at  Falaise,  in  which  the 
moulding  whose  section  is  rudely  given  above  at  /,  (taken  vertically 
through  the  point/,)  is  earned  thrice  through  itself  in  the  cross-bar 
and  two  arches ;  and  the  flat  fillet  is  cut  oflf  sharp  at  the  end  of  the 
cross-bar,  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  the  truncation.  Fig.  3.  is  half  of 
the  head  of  a  door  in  the  Stadthaus  of  Sursee,  in  which  the  shaded 
part  of  the  section  of  the  joint  ^  ^,  is  that  of  the  arch-moulding, 
which  is  three  times  reduphcated,  and  six  times  intersected  by  itself, 
the  ends  being  cut  oft"  when  they  become  unmanageable.  This  style 
is,  indeed,  earlier  exaggerated  in  Switzerland  and  Germany,  o^^ing  to 
the  imitation  in  stone  of  the  dovetaihng  of  wood,  particularly  of  the 
intersecting  of  beams  at  th€  angles  of  chalets  ;  but  it  only  furnishes 
the  more  plain  instance  of  the  danger  of  the  fallacious  system  which, 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH.  53 

from  the  l>oginning,  repressed  the  German,  and,  in  the  end,  ruined 
the  Freiu.ii.  Gothic.  It  ^vould  be  too  painful  a  task  to  follow  further 
the  caricatiu'es  of  form,  and  eccentricities  of  treatment,  which  grew 
out  of  this  single  abuse — the  flattened  arch,  the  shrunken  pillar,  the 
lifeless  ornament,  the  hny  moulding,  the  distorted  and  extravagant 
foliation,  until  the  time  came  when,  over  these  wrecks  and  remnant=;, 
deprived  of  all  unity  and  pnnciple,  rose  the  foul  torrent  of  the 
renaissance,  and  swept  them  all  away.  So  fell  the  gi-eat  dynasty  of 
mediaeval  architecture.  It  was  because  it  had  lost  its  own  strength, 
and  disobeyed  its  own  laws — because  its  order,  and  consistency,  and 
organisation,  had  been  broken  through — that  it  could  oppose  no 
resistance  to  the  rush  of  overwhelming  innovation.  And  this, 
observe,  all  because  it  had  sacrificed  a  single  truth.  From  that  one 
surrender  of  its  integrity,  from  that  one  endeavor  to  assume  the 
semblance  of  what  it  was  not,  arose  the  multitudinous  forms  of 
disease  and  decrepitude,  which  rotted  away  the  pillai*s  of  its 
supremacy.  It  was  not  because  its  time  was  come  ;  it  was  not 
because  it  was  scorned  by  the  classical  Romanist,  or  dreaded  by  the 
taithful  Protestant.  That  scorn  and  that  fear  it  might  have  survived, 
and  Hved ;  it  would  have  stood  forth  in  stern  comparison  with  the 
enervated  sensuality  of  the  renaissance  ;  it  would  have  risen  in 
renew^ed  and  puritied  honor,  and  with  a  new  soul,  from  the  ashes 
into  which  it  sank,  giving  up  its  glory,  as  it  had  received  it,  for  the 
honor  of  God — but  its  own  truth  was  gone,  and  it  sank  for  ever. 
There  was  no  wisdom  nor  sti-ength  left  in  it,  to  raise  it  from  the 
dust ;  and  the  error  of  zeal,  and  the  softness  of  luxury  smote  it 
down  and  dissolved  it  away.  It  is  good  for  us  to  remember  this,  as 
we  tread  upon  the  bare  ground  of  its  foundations,  and  stumble  over 
its  scattered  stones.  Those  rent  skeletons  of  pierced  wall,  through 
which  our  sea-winds  moan  and  miu-mur,  strewing  them  joint  by 
joint,  and  bone  by  bone,  along  the  bleak  promontories  on  wliioh. 
the  Pharos  lights  came  once  from  houses  of  prayer — those  grey 
arches  and  quiet  aisles  under  which  the  sheep  of  our  valle}"s  feed  and 
rest  on  the  turf  that  has  buried  their  altars — those  shapeless  heaps, 
that  are  not  of  the  Earth,  which  lift  our  fields  into  strange  and 
sudden  banks  of  flowei-s,  and  stay  our  mountain  streams  with  stones 
that  are  not  their  own,  have  other  thoughts  to  ask  from  us  than 
those  of  mourning  for  the  rage  that  despoiled,  or  the  fear  that 
forsook   them.     It   was  not  the   robber,  not   the  fanatic,  not  the 


56  TUE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

blasphemer,  who  sealed  the  destruction  that  they  had  wrought ;  tha 
war,  the  wrath,  the  terror,  mii^ht  have  worked  their  worst,  and  the 
strong  walls  would  have  risen,  and  the  slight  pillars  would  have 
started  again,  from  under  the  hand  of  the  destroyer.  But  they  could 
not  rise  out  of  the  ruins  of  their  own  violated  truth. 


CHAPTER    III. 


THE  LAMP  OF  POWER. 


I.  ^x  recalling  the  impressions  we  have  received  from  the  works 
of  man.  after  a  lapse  of  time  long  enough  to  involve  in  obscurity  all 
but  the  most  \^^^d,  it  often  happens  that  we  iind  a  strange  pre- 
eminence and  durability  in  many  upon  whose  strength  we  had  little 
calculated,  and  that  points  of  character  which  had  escaped  the 
detection  of  the  judgment,  become  developed  under  the  waste  of 
memory ;  as  veins  of  harder  rock,  whose  places  could  not  at  fii-st 
have  been  discovered  by  the  eye,  are  left  salient  under  the  action  of 
frosts  and  streams.  The  traveller  who  desires  to  correct  the  errors 
of  his  judgment,  necessitated  by  inequahties  of  temper,  infelicities  of 
circumstance,  and  accidents  of  association,  has  no  other  resource  than 
to  wait  for  the  calm  verdict  of  interposing  years ;  and  to  watch  for 
the  new  arrangements  of  eminence  and  shape  in  the  images  which 
remain  latest  in  his  memory  ;  as  in  the  ebbing  of  a  mountain  lake, 
he  would  watch  the  varying  outline  of  its  successive  shore,  and  trace, 
in  the  form  of  its  departing  waters,  the  true  direction  of  the  forces 
which  had  cleft,  or  the  currents  which  had  excavated,  the  deepest 
recesses  of  its  primal  bed. 

In  thus  reverting  to  the  memories  of  those  works  of  architecture 
by  which  we  have  been  most  pleasurably  impressed,  it  will  generally 
happen  that  they  fall  into  two  broad  classes  :  tlie  one  characterized 
by  an  exceeding  preciousness  and  delicacy,  to  which  we  recur  with  a 
sense  of  affectionate  admiration  ;  and  the  other  by  a  severe,  and,  in 
many  cases  mysterious,  majesty,  which  we  remember  with  an 
undiminished  awe,  like  that  felt  at  the  presence  and  operation  of 
some  great  Spiritual  Power.  From  about  these  two  groups,  more 
or  less  harmonised  by  intermediate  examples,  but  always  distinctively 
marked  by  features  of  beauty  or  of  power,  there  will  be  swept  away, 
in  multitudes,  the  memories  of  building-s,  perhaps,  in  their  tirst 
address  to  our  minds,  of  no  inferior  pretension,  but  owing   their 

3* 


58  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

impressiveness  to  characters  of  less  enduiing  nobility — ^to  value  o'' 
material,  accumulation  of  ornament,  or  ingenuity  of  meclianicaj 
construction.  Especial  interest  may,  indeed,  have  been  awakened  by 
such  circumstances,  and  the  memory  may  have  been,  consequently, 
rendered  tenacious  of  particular  parts  or  effects  of  the  structure  ;  but 
it  vAill  recall  even  these  only  by  an  active  effort,  and  then  without  emo- 
tion ;  while  in  passive  moments,  and  with  thrilling  influence,  the  images 
of  purer  beauty,  and  of  more  spiritual  power,  will  return  in  a  fair  and 
solemn  company  ;  and  while  the  pride  of  many  a  stately  palace,  and 
the  wealth  of  many  a  jewelled  shrine,  perish  from  our  thoughts  in  a 
dust  of  gold,  there  will  rise,  through  their  dimness,  the  wliite  image 
of  some  secluded  marble  chapel,  by  river  or  forest  side,  with  the 
fretted  flower-work  shrinking  under  its  arches,  as  if  under  vaults  of 
late-fallen  snow  ;  or  the  vast  weariness  of  some  shadowy  wall  whose 
separate  stones  are  like  mountain  foundations,  and  yet  numberless. 

II.  Now,  the  difference  b'Ztween  these  two  orders  of  buildinor  is 
not  merely  that  which  there  is  in  nature  between  things  beautiful 
and  sublime.  It  is,  also,  the  difference  between  what  is  derivative 
and  original  in  man's  work ;  for  whatever  is  in  architecture  fair  or 
beautiful,  is  imitated  from  natural  forms  ;  and  what  is  not  so  derived, 
but  depends  for  its  dignity  upon  arrangement  and  government 
received  from  human  mind,  becomes  the  expression  of  the  power  of 
that  mind,  and  receives  a  subhmity  high  in  proportion  to  the  power 
expressed.  All  building,  therefore,  shows  man  either  as  gathering 
or  governing ;  and  the  secrets  of  his  success  are  his  knowing  what 
to  gather,  and  how  to  rule.  These  are  the  two  great  intellectual 
Lamps  of  Architecture  ;  the  one  consisting  in  a  just  and  humble 
vei'.eration  for  the  works  of  God  upoxi  the  earth,  and  the  other  in  an 
understanding  of  the  dominion  over  those  works  which  has  been 
vested  in  man. 

III.  Besides  this  expression  of  living  authority  and  power,  there 
is,  however,  a  sympatliy  in  the  ionnn  of  noble  building,  with  what  is 
most  sublime  in  natural  things  ;  and  it  is  the  governing  Power 
directed  hy  this  sympathy,  whose  ojjeration  I  shall  at  present 
endeavor  to  trace,  abandoning  all  inquiry  into  the  more  abstract 
fields  of  invention :  for  this  latter  faculty,  and  the  questions  of 
proportion  qnd  arrangement  connected  with  its  discussion,  can  only 
be  rightly  examined  in  a  general  view  of  all  the  arts ;  but  its 
sympathy,   in    ftr«^hitecture,  with    the    vast    controlling    powers    of 


THE    LAMP    OF    POWER.  51 

Nature  herself,  is  special,  and  may  shortly  be  considered  ;  and  that 
with  the  more  advantage,  that  it  has,  of  late,  been  httle  felt  o» 
regarded  by  architects.  I  have  seen,  m  recent  efforts,  much  contest 
between  two  schools,  one  affecting  originality,  and  the  other  legality 
— many  attempts  at  beauty  of  design — many  ingenious  adaptations 
of  construction ;  but  I  have  never  seen«any  aim  at  the  expression  of 
abstract  power  ;  never  any  appearance  of  a  consciousness  that,  in 
this  primal  art  of  man,  there  is  room  for  the  marking  of  his  relations 
with  the  mightiest,  as  well  as  the  fairest,  works  of  God ;  and  that 
those  works  themselves  have  been  permitted,  by  their  Master  and 
his,  to  receive  an  added  glory  from  their  association  with  earnest 
efforts  of  human  thought.  In  the  edilices  of  Man  there  should  be 
found  reverent  worship  and  following,  not  only  of  the  spirit  which 
rounds  the  pillai-s  of  the  forest,  and  arches  the  vault  of  the  avenue — 
which  gives  veining  to  the  leaf,  and  polish  to  the  shell,  and  grace  to 
every  pulse  that  agitates  animal  organisation, — but  of  that  also 
which  reproves  the  pillars  of  the  earth,  and  builds  up  her  baiTcn 
precipices  into  the  coldness  of  the  clouds,  and  lifts  her  shadowy 
cones  of  mountain  purple  into  the  pale  arch  of  the  sky  ;  for  these, 
and  other  glories  more  than  these,  refuse  not  to  connect  themselves, 
in  his  thoughts,  ^ith  the  work  of  his  own  hand  ;  the  grey  cliff  loses 
not  its  nobleness  when  it  reminds  us  of  some  Cyclopean  waste  of 
mural  stone ;  the  pinnacles  of  the  rocky  promontory  arrange  them- 
selves, undegTaded,  into  fantastic  semblances  of  fortress  towers  ;  and 
even  the  awful  cone  of  the  far-off  mountain  has  a  melancholy  mixed 
Avith  that  of  its  own  solitude,  which  is  cast  from  the  images  of 
nameless  tumuh  on  white  sea-shores,  and  of  the  heaps  of  reedy  clay, 
into  which  chambered  cities  melt  in  their  mortahty. 

IV.  Let  us,  then,  see  what  is  this  power  and  majesty,  which 
Nature  herself  does  not  disdain  to  accept  from  the  works  of  man ; 
and  what  that  sublimity  in  the  masses  built  up  by  his  coralline-like 
energy,  which  is  honorable,  even  when  transferred  by  association  to 
the  dateless  hills,  which  it  needed  earthquakes  to  lift,  and  deluges  to 
mould. 

And,  first,  of  mere  size  :  It  might  not  be  thought  possible  to 
emulate  the  sublimity  of  natural  objects  in  this  respect ;  nor  would 
it  be,  if  the  ai'chitect  contended  with  them  in  pitched  battle.  It 
would  not  be  well  to  build  pyramids  in  the  valley  of  Chamouni ; 
and  St.  Peter's,  among  its   manv  oth.er  errors,  counU  for  not  tli«i 


60  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

least  injurious  its  position  on  the  slope  of  an  inconsiderable  hill 
But  imagine  it  placed  on  the  plain  of  Marengo,  or,  like  the  Superga 
of  Turin,  or  like  La  Salute  at  Venice  !  The  fact  is,  that  the  appre- 
hension of  the  size  of  natural  objects,  as  well  as  of  architecture, 
depends  more  on  fortunate  excitement  of  the  imagination  than  on 
measurements  by  the  eye  ;  and  the  architect  has  a  peculiar  advantage 
in  being  able  to  press  close  upon  the  sight,  such  magnitude  as  he  can 
command.  There  are  few  rocks,  even  among  the  Alps,  that  have  a 
clear  vertical  fall  as  high  as  the  choir  of  Beauvais  ;  and  if  we  secure 
a  good  precipice  of  wall,  or  a  sheer  and  unbroken  flank  of  tower,  and 
place  them  where  there  are  no  enormous  natural  features  to  oppose 
them,  we  shall  feel  in  them  no  want  of  subhmity  of  size.  And  it 
may  be  matter  of  encouragement  in  this  respect,  though  one  also  of 
regret,  to  observe  how  much  oftener  man  destroys  natural  sublimity, 
than  nature  crushes  human  power.  It  does  not  need  much  to 
humiliate  a  mountain.  A  hut  Avill  sometimes  do  it ;  I  never  look 
up  to  the  Col  de  Balme  from  Chamouni,  ^\^thout  a  \iolent  feehng 
of  provocation  against  its  hospitable  httle  cabin,  whose  bright  white 
walls  form  a  Adsibly  four-square  spot  on  the  green  ridge,  and  entirely 
destroy  all  idea  of  its  elevation.  A  single  -villa  will  often  mar  a 
whole  landscape,  and  dethrone  a  dynasty  of  hills,  and  the  acropohs 
of  Athens,  Parthenon  and  all,  has,  I  beheve,  been  dwarfed  into  a 
model  by  the  palace  lately  built  beneath  it.  The  fact  is,  that  hills  are 
not  so  high  as  we  fancy  them,  and,  when  to  the  actual  impression  of 
no  mean  comparative  size,  is  added  the  sense  of  the  toil  of  manly  liand 
and  thought,  a  subhmity  is  reached,  which  nothing  but  gross  error  in 
aiTangement  of  its  parts  can  destroy. 

V.  While,  therefore,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  mere  size  will 
ennoble  a  mean  design,  yet  every  increase  of  magnitude  will  bestow 
upon  it  a  certain  degree  of  nobleness  :  so  that  it  is  well  to  determine 
at  first,  whether  the  building  is  to  be  markedly  beautiful,  or  markedly 
sublime ;  and  if  the  latter,  not  to  be  withheld  by  respect  to  smaller 
parts  from  reaching  largeness  of  scale  ;  proNaded  only,  that  it  be 
e\-idently  in  the  architect's  power  to  reach  at  least  that  degree  of 
magnitude  which  is  the  lowest  at  which  sublimity  begins,  rudely 
definable  as  that  which  will  make  a  living  figure  look  less  than  hfe 
beside  it.  It  is  the  misfortune  of  most  of  our  modern  buildings  that 
we  would  fain  have  an  universal  excellence  in  them ;  and  so  part 
of  the  funds  must  go  in  painting,  part  in  gilding,  part*in  fitting  up, 


THE    LAMP    OF    POWER.  02 

part  in  painted  windows,  part  in  small  steeples,  part  in  ornaments 
here  and  there  ;  and  neither  the  windows,  nor  the  steeple,  nor  the 
ornaments,  are  worth  their  materials.  For  there  is  a  crust  about 
the  impressible  part  of  men's  minds,  which  must  be  pierced  throui^h 
before  they  can  be  touched  to  the  quick  ;  and  though  we  may  prick 
at  it  and  scratch  it  in  a  thousand  separate  places,  we  might  as  well 
have  let  it  alone  if  we  do  not  come  through  somewhere  with  a  deep 
thrust :  and  if  we  can  give  such  a  thrust  anywhere,  there  is  no  need 
of  another ;  it  need  not  be  even  so  "  wide  as  a  church  door,"  so  that 
it  be  enough.  And  mere  weight  will  do  this  ;  it  is  a  clumsy  way 
of  doing  it,  but  an  effectual  one,  too  ;  and  the  a|)athy  which  cannot 
be  pierced  through  by  a  small  steeple,  nor  shone  through  by  a  small 
window,  can  be  broken  through  in  a  moment  by  the  mere  weight 
of  a  great  wall.  Let,  therefore,  the  architect  who  has  not  large 
resources,  choose  his  point  of  attack  first,  and,  if  he  choose  size, 
let  him  abandon  decoration  ;  for,  unless  they  are  concentrated,  and 
numerous  enough  to  make  their  concenti-ation  conspicuous,  all  his 
ornaments  together  would  not  be  worth  one  huge  stone.  And  the 
choice  must  be  a  decided  one,  without  compromise.  It  must  be  no 
question  whether  his  capitiils  would  not  look  Ixitter  with  a  little 
carving — let  him  leave  them  huge  as  blocks  ;  or  whether  his  arches 
should  not  have  richer  arcliitraves — let  him  throw  them  a  foot 
higher,  if  he  can  ;  a  yard  more  across  the  nave  will  l^e  worth  more 
to  him  than  a  tesselated  pavement;  and  another  fathom  of  outer 
wall,  than  an  army  of  pinnacles.  The  limitation  of  size  must  be 
only  in  the  uses  of  the  building,  or  in  the  ground  at  his  disposal. 

VI.  That  limitation,  however,  being  by  such  circumstances  deter- 
mined, by  what  means,  it  is  to  be  next  asked,  may  the  actual  magni- 
tude be  best  displayed  ;  since  it  is  seldom,  perhaps  never,  that  a 
building  of  any  pretension  to  size  looks  so  large  as  it  is.  The 
appearance  of  a  figure  in  any  distant,  more  especially  in  any  upper, 
parts  of  it  will  almost  always  prove  that  we  have  under-estimated 
the  magnitude  of  those  parts. 

It  has  often  been  observed  that  a  building,  in  order  to  show  its 
magnitude,  must  be  seen  all  at  once.  It  would,  perhaps,  be  better 
to  say,  must  be  bounded  as  much  as  possible  by  continuous  lines, 
and  that  its  extreme  points  should  be  seen  all  at  once  ;  or  we  may 
state,  in  simpler  terms  still,  that  it  must  have  one  visible  bounding 
line  from  top  to  bottom,  and  from  end  to  end.     This  bounding  lin« 


62  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

from  top  to  bottom  may  either  be  iuclined  inwaids,  and  tbe  mass, 
therefore,  pyramidical;  or  vertical,  and  the  mass  form  one  grand 
chtf ;  or  inchned  outwards,  as  in  the  advancing  fronts  of  old  houses, 
and,  in  a  sort,  in  the  Greek  temple,  and  in  all  buildings  ^vith  heavy 
cornices  or  heads.  Now,  in  all  these  cases,  if  the  bounding  Une  be 
violently  broken  ;  if  the  cornice  project,  or  the  upper  portion  of  the 
pyramid  recede,  too  ^dolently,  majesty  will  be  lost ;  not  because  the 
building  cannot  be  seen  all  at  once, — for  in  the  case  of  a  heavy 
cornice  no  part  of  it  is  necessarily  concealed — but  because  the  con- 
tinuity of  its  terminal  hne  is  broken,  and  the  length  of  that  line, 
therefore,  cannot  be  estimated.  But  the  error  is,  of  course,  more 
fatal  when  much  of  the  building  is  also  concealed ;  as  in  the  well- 
known  case  of  the  recession  of  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  and,  fi*om  the 
greater  number  of  points  of  \dew,  in  churches  whose  highebt  por- 
tions, whether  dome  or  tower,  are  over  their  cross.  Thus  there  is 
only  one  point  fi-om  which  the  size  of  the  Cathedral  of  Florence  is 
felt ;  and  that  is  ti-om  the  corner  of  the  Via  de'  Balestrieri,  opposite 
the  south-east  angle,  where  it  happens  that  the  dome  is  seen  rising 
instantly  above  the  apse  and  transepts.  In  all  cases  in  which  the 
tower  is  over  the  cross,  the  grandeur  and  height  of  the  tower  itself 
are  lost,  because  there  is  but  one  line  down  which  the  eye  can  trace 
the  whole  height,  and  that  is  in  the  inner  angle  of  the  cross,  not 
easily  discerned.  Hence,  while,  in  symmetry  and  feeling,  such  de- 
signs may  often  have  pre-eminence,  yet,  where  the  height  of  the 
tower  itself  is  to  be  made  apparent,  it  must  be  at  the  west  end,  or, 
setter  still,  detached  as  a  campanile.  Imagine  the  loss  to  the  Lom- 
bard churches  if  their  campaniles  were  carried  only  to  their  present 
height  over  their  crosses  ;  or  to  the  Cathedral  of  Rouen,  if  the  Tour 
de  Beurre  were  made  central,  in  the  place  of  its  present  debased 
spire  ! 

VII.  Whether,  therefore,  we  have  to  do  with  tower  or  wall,  there 
must  be  one  bounding  hne  from  base  to  coping ;  and  I  am  much 
inchned,  myself,  to  love  the  true  vertical,  or  the  vertical,  with  a 
solemn  frown  of  projection  (not  a  scowl),  as  in  the  Palazzo  Vecchio 
of  Florence.  This  character  is  always  given  to  rocks  by  the  poets  ; 
with  shght  foundation  indeed,  real  rocks  being  little  given  to  over- 
hanging— but  with  excellent  judgment ;  for  the  sense  of  threatening 
conveyed  by  this  form  is  a  nobler  character  than  that  of  mere  size. 
And,   in  building:s,  this   threatenino;  should  be  somewhat  carried 


THE    LAMP    OF    POWER.  6S 

down  into  their  mas?.  A  mere  projecting  shelf  is  not  enough,  the 
whole  wall  must,  Jujtiter  like,  nod  as  well  as  frown.  Hence,  I 
think  the  propped  machicolations  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio  and  Duomo 
of  Florence  far  grander  headings  than  any  form  of  Greek  cornice. 
Sometimes  the  projection  may  be  thrown  lower,  as  in  the  doge's 
palace  of  Venice,  where  the  chief  appearance  of  it  is  above  the 
second  arcade  ;  or  it  may  become  a  grand  swell  from  the  ground, 
as  the  head  of  a  ship  of  the  line  rises  from  the  sea.  This  is  very 
nobly  attained  by  the  projection  of  the  niches  in  the  third  stoiy  of 
the  Tour  de  Beurre  at  Rouen. 

VIII.  What  is  needful  in  the  settino;  forth  of  masrnitudeinheifrht, 
is  i-ight  also  in  the  marking  it  in  area — let  it  be  gathered  well 
together.  It  is  especially  to  be  noted  with  respect  to  the  Palazzo 
Vecchio  and  other  mighty  buildings  of  its  order,  how  mistakenly  it 
has  been  stated  that  dimension,  in  order  to  become  impressive, 
should  be  expanded  either  in  height  or  lengl:!!,  but  not  equally  : 
whereas,  rather  it  will  be  found  that  those  buildings  seem  on  the 
whole  the  vastest  which  have  been  gathered  up  into  a  mighty 
square,  and  which  look  as  if  they  had  been  measured  by  the  angel's 
rod,  "  the  length,  and  the  breadth,  and  the  height  of  it  are  equal," 
and  herein  something  is  to  be  taken  notice  of,  which  I  beheve  not  to 
be  sufficiently,  if  at  all,  considered  among  our  architects. 

Of  the  many  broad  di\Tsions  under  which  architecture  may  be 
considered,  none  appear  to  me  more  significant  than  that  into  build- 
ings whose  interest  is  in  their  walls,  and  those  whose  interest  is 
in  the  lines  dividing  their  walls.  In  the  Greek  temple  the  wall  is 
as  nothing  ;  the  entire  interest  is  in  the  detached  columns  and  the 
frieze  they  bear ;  in  French  Flamboyant,  and  in  our  detestable  Per- 
pendicular, the  object  is  to  get  rid  of  the  wall  surfiice,  and  keep  the 
eye  altogether  on  tracery  of  line  ;  in  Romanesque  work  and  Egyp- 
tian, the  wall  is  a  confessed  and  honored  member,  and  the  light  is 
often  allowed  to  fell  on  large  areas  of  it,  variously  decorated.  Now, 
both  these  principles  are  admitted  by  Nature,  the  one  in  her  woods 
and  thickets,  the  other  in  her  plains,  and  cliffs,  and  waters  ;  but  the 
latter  is  pre-eminently  the  principle  of  power,  and,  in  some  sense,  of 
beauty  also.  For,  whatever  infinity  of  fair  form  there  may  be  in  the 
maze  of  the  forest,  there  is  a  tairer,  as  I  think,  in  the  surface  of  the 
quiet  lake ;  and  I  hardly  know  that  association  of  shaft  or  tracery, 
for  wlii(5h  I  would  exchange  the  warm  sleep  of  sunshine  on  some 


64  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

smootli,  broad,  Imman-like  front  of  marble.  Nevertheless,  if  breadth 
is  to  be  beautiful,  its  substance  must  in  some  sort  be  beautiful ;  and 
we  must  not  hastily  condemn  the  exclusive  resting  of  the  northern 
architects  in  divided  lines,  until  at  least  we  have  remembered  the 
difference  between  a  blank  surface  of  Caen  stone,  and  one  mixed 
fiom  Genoa  and  Carrara,  of  serpentine  with  snow  :  but  as  regards 
abstract  power  and  awfulness,  there  is  no  question  ;  without  breadth 
of  surface  it  is  in  vain  to  seek  them,  and  it  matters  little,  so  that  the 
surface  be  wide,  bold,  and  unbroken,  whether  it  be  of  brick  or  of 
jasper ;  the  light  of  heaven  upon  it,  and  the  weight  of  earth  in  it, 
are  all  we  need  :  for  it  is  singular  how  forgetful  the  mind  may  be- 
come both  of  mateiial  and  workmanship,  if  only  it  have  space 
enough  over  which  to  range,  and  to  remind  it,  however  feebly,  of 
the  joy  that  it  has  in  contemplating  the  flatness  and  sweep  of  gTeat 
plains  and  broad  seas.  And  it  is  a  noble  thing  for  men  to  do  this 
with  their  cut  stone  or  moulded  clay,  and  to  make  the  face  of  a  wall 
look  infinite,  and  its  edge  against  the  sky  like  an  horizon  :  or  even 
if  less  than  this  be  reached,  it  is  still  delightful  to  mark  the  play  of 
passing  light  on  its  broad  surface,  and  to  see  by  how  many  artifices 
and  gradations  of  tinting  and  shadow,  time  and  storm  will  set  their 
wild  signatures  upon  it ;  and  how  in  the  rising  or  dechning  of  the 
day  the  unbroken  twilight  rests  long  and  luridly  on  its  high  lineless 
forehead,  and  fades  away  untraceably  down  its  tiers  of  confused  and 
countless  stone. 

IX.  This,  then,  being,  as  I  think,  one  of  the  pecuhar  elements  of 
sublime  architecture,  it  may  be  easily  seen  how  necessarily  conse- 
quent upon  the  love  of  it  will  be  the  choice  of  a  form  approaching 
to  the  square  for  the  main  outline. 

For,  in  whatever  direction  the  building  is  contracted,  in  that  direc- 
tion the  eye  will  be  drawn  to  its  terminal  lines ;  and  the  sense  of 
surface  will  only  be  at  its  fullest  when  those  lines  are  removed,  in 
every  direction,  as  far  as  possible.  Thus  the  square  and  circle  are 
pre-eminently  the  areas  of  power  among  those  bounded  by  purely 
straight  or  curved  lines ;  and  these,  with  their  relative  solids,  the 
cube  and  sphere,  and  relative  solids  of  progression  (as  in  the  investi- 
gation of  the  laws  of  proportion  I  shall  call  those  masses  which  are 
generated  by  the  progression  of  an  area  of  given  form  along  a  line 
in  a  given  direction),  the  square  and  cylindrical  column,  are  the 
elements  of  utmost  power  in  all  architectural  arrangements.     On 


THE    LAMP    OF    TOWER.  6i 

the  other  hand,  grace  and  perfect  proportion  require  an  elongation 
in  some  one  direction :  and  a  sense  of  power  may  be  communicated 
to  this  form  of  magnitude  by  a  continuous  series  of  any  marked 
features,  such  as  the  eye  may  be  unable  to  number ;  while  yet  we 
feel,  from  their  boldness,  decision,  and  simpHcity,  that  it  is  indeed 
their  multitude  which  has  embarrassed  us,  not  any  confusion  or 
indistinctness  of  form.  This  expedient  of  continued  series  forms  the 
subUmity  of  arcades  and  aisles,  of  all  ranges  of  columns,  and,  on  a 
smaller  scale,  of  those  Greek  mouldings,  of  which,  repeated  as  they 
now  are  in  all  the  meanest  and  most  familiar  forms  of  our  furniture, 
it  is  impossible  altogether  to  weary.  Now,  it  is  evident  that  the 
architect  has  choice  of  two  types  of  form,  each  properly  associated 
with  its  own  kind  of  interest  or  decoration  :  the  square,  or  greatest 
area,  to  be  chosen  especially  when  the  surface  is  to  be  the  subject 
of  thought ;  and  the  elongated  area,  when  the  divisions  of  the  sur- 
face are  to  be  the  subjects  of  thought.  Both  these  orders  of  form, 
as  I  think  nearly  every  other  source  of  power  and  beauty,  are  mar- 
vellously united  in  that  building  which  I  fear  to  weary  the  reader 
by  bringing  forward  too  frequently,  as  a  model  of  all  perfection — 
the  Doge's  palace  at  Venice  :  its  general  arrangement,  a  hollow 
square ;  its  principal  facade,  an  oblong,  elongated  to  the  eye  by  a 
range  of  thirty-four  small  arches,  and  thirty -five  columns,  while  it  is 
separated  by  a  richly  canopied  window  in  the  centre,  into  two 
massive  divisions,  whose  height  and  length  are  nearly  as  four  to 
five  ;  the  arcades  which  give  it  length  being  confined  to  the  lower 
stories,  and  the  upper,  between  its  broad  vvindows,  left  a  mighty 
surface  of  smooth  marble,  chequered  with  blocks  of  alternate  rose- 
color  and  white.  It  would  be  impossible,  I  believe,  to  invent  a 
more  magnificent  arrangement  of  all  that  is  in  building  most  digni- 
fied and  most  fair. 

X.  In  the  Lombard  Romanesque,  the  two  principles  are  m(»re 
fused  into  each  other,  as  most  characteristically  in  the  cathedral  of 
Pisa :  length  of  proportion,  exhibited  by  an  arcade  of  twenty-one 
arches  above,  and  fifteen  below,  at  the  side  of  the  nave  ;  bold 
square  proportion  in  the  front ;  that  front  divided  into  arcades, 
placed  one  above  the  other,  the  lowest  vvith  its  pillars  engaged,  of 
seven  arches,  the  four  uppermost  thrown  out  boldly  from  the 
receding  wall,  and  casting  deep  shadows  ;  the  first,  above  the  base- 
ment, of  nineteen  arches ;  the  second  of  twenty-one ;  the  third  and 


66  THE    LAMP    OF   POWER. 

fourtli  of  eiglit  eacli ;  sixty-three  arches  in  all ;  all  chmlar  lieade(^ 
all  ^ith  cylindrical  shafts,  and  the  lowest  mth  squan  p^meUings.  set 
diagonally  under  their  semicircles,  an  universal  ornament  in  this 
style  (Plate  XII.  fig.  7.) ;  the  apse  a  semicircle,  with  a  semidome 
for  its  roof,  and  three  ranges  of  chcular  arches  for  its  exterior  orna- 
ment ;  in  the  interior  of  the  nave,  a  range  of  circular  arches  below  a 
circular-arched  triforium,  and  a  vast  flat  surface^  observe,  of  wall 
decorated  with  striped  marble  above ;  the  whole  arrangement  (not 
a  pecuhar  one,  but  characteristic  of  every  church  of  the  period ; 
and,  to  my  feeling,  the  most  majestic  ;  not  perhaps  the  fairest,  but 
the  mightiest  ty|De  of  form  which  the  mind  of  man  has  ever  con- 
ceived) based  exclusively  on  associations  of  the  circle  and  the 
square. 

I  am  now,  however,  trenching  upon  ground  which  I  desire  to 
reserve  for  more  careful  examination,  in  connection  with  other  tEsthe- 
tic  questions :  but  I  beheve  the  examples  I  have  given  will  justify 
my  vindication  of  the  square  form  from  the  reprobation  which  has 
been  lightly  thrown  upon  it ;  nor  might  this  be  done  for  it  only  as 
a  ruhng  outline,  but  as  occurring  constantly  in  the  best  mosaics,  and 
in  a  thousand  forms  of  minor  decoration,  which  I  cannot  now 
examine ;  my  chief  assertion  of  its  majesty  being  always  as  it  is  an 
exponent  of  space  and  surface,  and  therefore  to  be  chosen,  either  to 
rule  in  their  outlines,  or  to  adorn  by  masses  of  hght  and  shade  those 
portions  of  buildings  in  which  surface  is  to  be  rendered  precious  or 
honorable. 

XI.  Thus  far,  then,  of  general  forms,  and  of  the  modes  in  which 
the  scale  of  architecture  is  best  to  be  exhibited.  Let  us  next  con- 
sider the  manifestations  of  power  which  belong  to  its  details  and 
lesser  di\isions. 

The  first  di\ision  we  have  to  regard,  is  the  ine\'itable  one  of 
masonry.  It  is  true  that  this  division  may,  by  great  art,  be  con- 
cealed ;  but  I  think  it  unwise  (as  well  as  dishonest)  to  do  so ;  for 
this  reason,  that  there  is  a  very  noble  character  always  to  be 
obtained  by  the  opposition  of  large  stones  to  divided  masonry,  as  by 
shafts  and  columns  of  one  piece,  or  massy  lintels  and  architraves,  to 
wall  work  of  bricks  or  smaller  stones  ;  and  there  is  a  certain  organi- 
sation in  the  management  of  such  parts,  like  that  of  the  continuous 
bones  of  the  skeleton,  opposed  to  the  vertebrae,  which  it  is  not  well 
to  surrender.     I  hold,  therefore,  that,  for  this  and  other  reasons,  tho 


THE    LAMP    OF    POWER.  6^ 

raasonry  of  a  building  is  to  be  shown  :  and  also  thai;,  with  certain 
rare  exceptions  (as  in  the  cases  of  chapels  and  shrines  of  most  finished 
workmansliip),  the  smaller  the  building,  the  more  necessary  it  is 
that  its  masonry  should  be  bold,  and  vice  versd.  For  if  a  building 
be  under  the  mark  of  average  magnitude,  it  is  not  in  our  power  to 
increase  its  apparent  size  (too  easily  measureable)  by  any  propor- 
tionate diminution  in  the  scale  of  its  masonry.  But  it  may  be  often 
in  our  power  to  give  it  a  certain  nobihty  by  building  it  of  massy 
stones,  or,  at  all  events,  introducing  such  into  its  make.  Thus  it  is 
impossible  that  there  should  ever  be  majesty  in  a  cottage  built  of 
brick  ;  but  there  is  a  marked  element  of  sublimity  in  the  rude  and 
irregular  pihng  of  the  rocky  walls  of  the  mountain  cottages  of 
Wales,  Cumberland,  and  Scotland,  llieir  size  is  not  one  Avliit 
diminished,  though  four  or  five  stones  reach  at  their  angles  from 
the  ground  to  the  eaves,  or  though  a  native  rock  happen  to  project 
conveniently,  and  to  be  built  into  the  framework  of  the  wall.  On 
the  other  hand,  after  a  building  has  once  reached  the  mark  of 
majestic  size,  it  matters,  indeed,  comparatively  little  whether  its 
masonry  be  large  or  small,  but  if  it  be  altogether  large,  it  will  some- 
times diminish  the  macrnitude  for  want  of  a  measure  :  if  altoovther 
small,  it  will  suggest  ideas  of  poverty  in  material,  or  deficiency  in 
mechanical  resource,  besides  interfering  in  many  cases  with  the  fines 
of  the  design,  and  dehcacy  of  the  workmanship.  A  very  unhappy 
instance  of  such  interference  exists  in  the  faqade  of  the  church  of 
St.  Madeleine  at  Paris,  where  the  columns,  being  built  of  very  small 
stones  of  nearly  equal  size  with  ^^sible  joints,  look  as  if  they  wore 
covered  with  a  close  trellis.  So,  then,  that  masonry  will  be  gene- 
rally the  most  magnificent  which,  without  the  use  of  materials 
systematically  small  or  large,  accommodates  itself,  naturally  and 
frankly,  to  the  conditions  and  structure  of  its  work,  and  dis})lays 
ahke  its  power  of  dealing  with  the  vastest  nuisses,  and  of  accom- 
phshing  its  purpose  with  the  smallest,  sometimes  heaping  rock  upon 
rock  with  Titanic  commandment,  and  anon  binding  the  dusty  rem- 
nants and  edgy  splinters  into  springing  vaults  and  swelling  domes. 
And  if  the  nobility  of  this  confessed  and  n;itural  masuniy  were  more 
commonly  felt,  we  should  not  lose  the  dignity  of  it  by  smoothing 
surfaces  and  fitting  joints.  The  smns  which  we  waste  in  chiselhng 
and  polishing  stones  wliich  would  have  been  better  left  as  they  came 
from  the  quarry  would  often  raise  a  building  a  story  hig^r.     Oidy 


68  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

in  this  there  is  to  be  a  certain  respect  for  material  also :  for  if  w« 
build  in  marble,  or  in  any  limestone,  the  known  ease  of  the  work' 
manship  will  make  its  absence  seem  slovenly ;  it  will  be  well  to 
take  advantage  of  the  stone's  softness,  and  to  make  the  design 
delicate  and  dependent  upon  smoothness  of  chiselled  surfaces :  but 
if  we  build  in  granite  or  lava,  it  is  a  folly,  in  most  cases,  to  cast 
away  the  labor  necessary  to  smooth  it ;  it  is  wiser  to  make  the 
design  granitic  itself,  and  to  leave  the  blocks  rudely  squared.  I  do 
not  deny  a  certain  splendor  and  sense  of  power  in  the  smoothing 
of  granite,  and  in  the  entire  subduing  of  its  iron  resistance  to  the 
human  supremacy.  But  in  most  cases,  I  believe,  the  labor  and 
time  necessary  to  do  this  would  be  better  spent  in  another  way ;  and 
that  to  raise  a  building  to  a  height  of  a  hundred  feet  with  rough 
blocks,  is  better  than  to  raise  it  to  seventy  with  smooth  ones.  There 
is  also  a  magnificence  in  the  natural  cleavage  of  the  stone  to  which 
the  art  must  indeed  be  great  that  pretends  to  be  equivalent ;  and  a 
stern  expression  of  brotherhood  with  the  mountain  heart  from  which 
it  has  been  rent,  ill-exchanged  for  a  glistering  obedience  to  the  rule 
and  measure  of  men.  His  eye  must  be  delicate  indeed,  who  would 
desire  to  see  the  Pitti  palace  polished. 

XII.  Next  to  those  of  the  masonry,  we  have  to  consider  the 
divisions  of  the  design  itself.  Those  divisions  are  necessarily,  either 
into  masses  of  light  and  shade,  or  else  by  traced  lines ;  which  latter 
must  be,  indeed,  themselves  produced  by  incisions  or  projections 
which,  in  some  hghts,  cast  a  certain  breadth  of  shade,  but  which 
may,  nevertheless,  if  finely  enough  cut,  be  always  true  lines,  in 
distant  eftect.  I  call,  for  instance,  such  panelling  as  that  of  Henry 
the  Seventh's  chapel,  pure  hnear  division.- 

Now,  it  does  not  seem  to  me  sufficiently  recollected,  that  a  wall 
surface  is  to  an  architect  simply  what  a  white  canvass  is  to  a  painter, 
with  this  only  difference,  that  the  wall  has  already  a  sublimity  in  its 
height,  substance,  and  other  characters  already  considered,  on  which 
it  is  more  dangerous  to  break  than  to  touch  with  shade  the  canvass 
surface.  And,  for  my  own  part,  I  think  a  smooth,  broad,  freshly 
laid  surface  of  gesso  a  fairer  thing  than  most  pictures  I  see  painted 
on  it ;  much  more,  a  noble  surface  of  stone  than  most  architectural 
features  which  it  is  caused  to  assume.  But  however  this  may  be, 
Ihe  canvass  and  wall  are  supposed  to  be  given,  and  it  is  our  craft  to 
divide  them. 


THE    LAMP    OF    POWER.  69 

And  the  principles  on  which  this  division  is  to  be  made,  are,  as 
regards  rehition  of  quantities,  the  same  in  architecture  as  in  painting, 
or  indeed,  in  any  other  art  whatsoever,  only  the  painter  is  by  his 
varied  subject  partly  permitted,  partly  compelled,  to  dispense  mth 
the  symmetry  of  architectural  light  and  shade,  and  to  adopt  arrange- 
ments apparently  free  and  accidental.  So  that  in  modes  of  grouping 
there  is  much  difference  (though  no  ojjposition)  between  the  two 
arts ;  but  in  rules  of  quantity,  both  are  alike,  so  far  forth  as  their 
commands  of  means  are  alike.  For  the  architect,  not  being  able  to 
secure  always  the  same  depth  or  decision  of  shadow,  nor  to  add  to 
its  sadness  by  color  (because  even  when  color  is  employed,  it  cannot 
follow  the  moving  shade),  is  compelled  to  make  many  allowances, 
and  avail  himself  of  many  contrivances,  which  the  painter  needs 
neither  consider  nor  employ. 

XIII.  Of  these  limitations  the  first  consequence  is,  that  positive 
shade  is  a  more  necessary  and  more  sublime  thing  in  an  architect's 
hands  than  in  a  painter's.  For  the  latter  being  able  to  temper  liis 
light  with  an  under  tone  throughout,  and  to  make  it  delightful  with 
sweet  color,  or  awful  with  lurid  color,  and  to  represent  distance,  and 
air,  and  sun,  by  the  depth  of  it,  and  fill  its  whole  space  ^v^th 
expression,  can  deal  \\ith  an  enormous,  nay,  almost  with  an  universal 
extent  of  it,  and  the  best  painters  most  delight  in  such  extent ;  but 
as  light,  with  the  architect,  is  nearly  always  liable  to  become  full  and 
untempered  sunshine  seen  upon  solid  surface,  his  only  rests,  and  his 
chief  means  of  sublimity,  are  definite  shades.  So  that,  after  size 
and  weight,  the  Power  of  architecture  may  be  said  to  depend  on 
the  quantity  (whether  measured  in  space  or  intenseness)  of  its 
shadow  ;  and  it  seems  to  me,  that  the  reality  of  its  works,  and  the 
use  and  influence  they  have  in  the  daily  life  of  men  (as  opposed  to 
those  >vorks  of  art  ^vith  which  we  have  nothing  to  do  but  in  times 
of  rest  or  of  pleasure),  require  of  it  that  it  should  express  a  kind 
of  human  sympathy,  by  a  measure  of  darkness  as  great  as  there  is 
in  human  life  :  and  that  as  the  great  poem  and  great  fiction  generally 
affect  us  most  by  the  majesty  of  their  masses  of  shade,  and  cannot 
take  hold  upon  us  if  they  affect  a  continuance  of  lyric  sj)rightliness, 
but  must  be  serious  often,  and  sometimes  melancholy,  else  they  do 
not  express  the  truth  of  this  wild  world  of  oui-s ;  so  there  must  be, 
in  this  magnificently  human  art  of  architecture,  some  equivalent 
expression  for  the  trouble  and  ^^Tath  of  life,  for  its  sorrow  and  ita 


70  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

mystery  :  and  this  it  can  only  give  by  depth  or  diffusion  of  gloom, 
by  the  frown  upon  its  front,  and  the  shadow  of  its  recess.  So  that 
Rembrandtism  is  a  noble  manner  in  architecture,  though  a  false 
one  in  painting  ;  and  I  do  not  beheve  that  ever  any  building  was 
truly  great,  unless  it  had  mighty  masses,  -s^gorous  and  deep,  of 
shadow  mingled  with  its  surface.  And  among  the  first  habits  that 
a  young  architect  should  learn,  is  that  of  thinking  in  shadow,  not 
looking  at  a  design  in  its  miserable  liny  skeleton  ;  but  concei\'ing  it 
as  it  will  be  when  the  dawn  hghts  it,  and  the  dusk  leaves  it ;  when 
its  stones  will  be  hot,  and  its  crannies  cool ;  when  the  lizards  ^vill 
bask  on  the  one,  and  the  birds  build  in  the  other.  Let  him  design 
with  the  sense  of  cold  and  heat  upon  him ;  let  him  cut  out  the 
shadows,  as  men  dig  wells  in  unwatered  plains ;  and  lead  along  the 
hghts,  as  a  founder  does  his  hot  metal ;  let  him  keep  the  full 
command  of  both,  and  see  that  he  knows  how  they  fall,  and  where 
they  fade.  His  paper  hues  and  proportions  are  of  no  value :  all 
that  he  has  to  do  must  be  done  by  spaces  of  hght  and  darkness ; 
and  his  business  is  to  see  that  the  one  is  broad  and  bold  enough  not 
to  be  swallow^ed  up  by  twilight,  and  the  other  deep  enough  not  to 
be  dried  like  a  shallow  pool  by  a  noon-day  sun. 

And,  that  this  may  be,  the  first  necessity  is  that  the  quantities 
of  shade  or  hght,  whatever  they  may  be,  shall  be  thrown  into 
masses,  either  of  something  hke  equal  weight,  or  else  large  masses 
of  the  one  reheved  Avith  small  of  the  other  ;  but  masses  of  one  or 
other  kind  there  must  be.  No  design  that  is  divided  at  all,  and  is 
not  di\ided  into  masses,  can  ever  be  of  the  smallest  value  :  this 
great  law  respecting  breadth,  precisely  the  same  in  architecture  and 
painting,  is  so  important,  that  the  examination  of  its  two  principal 
applications  will  include  most  of  the  conditions  of  majestic  design 
on  which  I  would  at  present  insist. 

XIV.  Painters  are  in  the  habit  of  speaking  loosely  of  masses  of 
hght  and  shade,  meaning  thereby  any  large  spaces  of  either. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  convenient  sometimes  to  restrict  the  term  "  mass" 
to  the  portions  to  which  proper  fomi  belongs,  and  to  call  the  field 
on  which  such  forms  are  traced,  interval.  Thus,  in  fohage  ^vith 
projecting  boughs  or  stems,  we  have  masses  of  hght,  with  intervals 
of  shade ;  and,  in  light  skies  with  dark  clouds  upon  them,  masses 
of  shade,  with  intervals  of  light. 

This  distinction  is,  in  architecture,  still  more  necessary  ;  for  there 


THE    LAMP    OF    POWER.  7l 

are  two  marked  styles  dependent  upon  it :  one  in  which  the  forms 
are  drawn  with  hght  upon  darkness,  as  in  Greek  sculpture  and 
pillars ;  the  other  in  which  they  are  drawn  with  darkness  upon 
light,  as  in  early  Gothic  foliation.  Now,  it  is  not  in  the  designer's 
power  determinately  to  vary  degrees  and  places  of  darkness,  but  it 
is  altogether  in  his  power  to  vary  in  determined  directions  his 
decrrees  of  liofht.  Hence  the  use  of  the  dark  mass  characterises, 
generally,  a  trenchant  style  of  design,  in  which  the  darks  and  hghts 
are  both  flat,  and  terminated  by  sharp  edges  ;  while  the  use  of  the 
light  mass  is  in  the  same  way  associated  with  a  softened  and  fuU 
manner  of  design,  in  which  the  darks  are  much  warmed  by  reflectec 
liohts,  and  the  lij^hts  are  rounded  and  melt  into  them.  The  term 
aj)jtlied  by  Milton  to  Done  bas-relief — "bossy,"  is,  as  is  generally 
the  case  with  Milton's  epithets,  the  most  comprehensive  and  expressive 
of  this  manner,  which  the  English  language  contains  ;  wliile  the 
term  which  specifically  describes  the  chief  member  of  early  Gothic 
decoration,  feuille,  foil  or  leaf,  is  equally  significative  of  a  flat  space 
of  shade. 

XV.  AVe  shall  shortly  consider  the  actual  modes  in  which  these 
two  kinds  of  mass  have  been  treated.  And,  first,  of  the  Hght,  or 
rounded,  mass.  The  modes  in  which  rehef  wiis  secured  for  the 
more  projecting  forms  of  bas-relief^  by  the  Greeks,  have  been  too 
well  described  by  Mr.  Eastlake*  to  need  recapitulation ;  the  conclu- 
sion which  forces  itself  upon  us  from  the  tacts  he  has  remarked, 
being  one  on  which  I  shall  have  occasion  farther  to  insist  presently, 
that  the  Greek  workman  cared  for  shadow  only  as  a  dark  field 
wherefrom  his  light  figure  or  design  might  be  intelligibly  detached : 
his  attention  was  concentrated  on  the  one  aim  at  readableness,  and 
clearness  of  accent ;  and  all  composition,  all  harmony,  nay,  the  very 
vitality  and  energy  of  separate  groups  were,  when  necessary, 
sacrificed  to  plain  speaking.  Nor  was  there  any  predilection  for  one 
kind  of  form  rather  than  another.  Rounded  fonns  were,  in  the 
columns  and  principal  decorative  members,  adopted,  not  for  their 
own  sake,  but  as  characteristic  of  the  things  represented.  They 
were  beautifully  rounded,  because  the  Greek  habitually  did  well 
what  he  had  to  do,  not  because  he  loved  roundness  more  than 
si^uareness  ;    severely  rectilini.'ar  forms  were   associated   with   the 

*  Literature  of  the  Fine  Arts. — Essav  on  Bas-relief. 


12  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

curved  ones  in  the  cornice  and  triglyph,  and  the  mass  of  the  pillar 
was  di^^ded  by  a  fluting,  which,  in  distant  eflect,  destroyed  much 
of  its  breadth.  What  power  of  light  these  primal  arrangements 
left,  was  diminished  in  successive  refinements  and  additions  of 
ornament ;  and  continued  to  diminish  through  Roman  work,  until 
the  confirmation  of  the  circular  arch  as  a  decorative  feature.  Its 
lovely  and  simple  fine  taught  the  eye  to  ask  for  a  similar  boundary 
of  solid  form ;  the  dome  followed,  and  necessarily  the  decorative 
masses  were  thenceforward  managed  with  reference  to,  and  in 
sympathy  with,  the  chief  feature  of  the  building.  Hence  arose, 
among  the  Byzantine  architects,  a  system  of  ornament,  entirely 
restrained  ^vithin  the  superficies  of  curvihnear  masses,  on  which  the 
light  fell  with  as  unbroken  gradation  as  on  a  dome  or  column,  while 
the  illumined  surface  was  nevertheless  cut  into  details  of  singular 
and  most  ingenious  intricacy.  Something  is,  of  course,  to  be  allowed 
for  the  less  dexterity  of  the  workmen  ;  it  being  easier  to  cut  down 
into  a  solid  block,  than  to  arrange  the  projecting  portions  of  leaf  on 
the  Greek  capital :  such  leafy  capitals  are  nevertheless  executed  by 
the  Byzantines  -with  skill  enough  to  show  that  their  preference  of 
the  massive  form  was  by  no  means  compulsory,  nor  can  I  think  it 
unwise.  On  the  contrary,  while  the  arrangements  of  line  are  far 
more  artful  in  the  Greek  capital,  the  Byzantine  hght  and  shade  are 
as  incontestably  more  gTand  and  masculine,  based  on  that  quahty 
of  pure  gradation,  which  nearly  all  natural  objects  possess,  and  the 
attainment  of  which  is,  in  fact,  the  first  and  most  palpable  purpose 
in  natural  an-angeraents  of  gTand  form.  The  rolling  heap  of  the 
thunder-cloud,  divided  by  rents,  and  multiphed  by  wreaths,  yet 
gathering  them  all  into  its  broad,  torrid,  and  towering  zone,  and  its 
midnight  darkness  opposite  ;  the  scarcely  less  majestic  heave  of  the 
mountain  side,  all  torn  and  traversed  by  depth  of  defile  and  ridge 
of  rock,  yet  never  losing  the  unity  of  its  illumined  swell  and 
shadowy  dechne;  and  the  head  of  every  mighty  tree,  rich  with 
tracery  of  leaf  and  bough,  yet  terminated  against  the  sky  by  a  true 
line,  and  rounded  by  a  green  horizon,  which,  multiphed  in  the 
distant  forest,  makes  it  look  bossy  from  above  ;  all  these  mark,  for  a 
great  and  honored  law,  that  diffnsion  of  light  for  which  the  Byzantine 
ornaments  were  designed  ;  and  show  us  that  those  builders  had  truer 
sympathy  with  what  God  made  majestic,  than  the  self-contemplating 
and   self-contented   Greek.       I   know   that   they   are   barbaric   in 


THE    LAMP    OF    TOWER.  73 

comparison ;  but  there  is  a  power  in  their  barbarism  of  sterner 
tone,  a  power  not  sophistic  nor  penetrative,  but  embracing  and 
mysterious  ;  a  power  faithful  more  than  thoughtful,  which  conceived 
and  felt  more  than  it  created  ;  a  power  that  neither  comprehended 
nor  ruled  itself,  but  worked  and  wandered  as  it  listed,  hke  mountain 
streams  and  winds ;  and  which  could  not  rest  in  the  expression  or 
seizure  of  finite  form.  It  could  not  bury  itself  m  acanthas  leaves. 
Its  imagery  was  taken  from  the  shadows  of  the  storms  and  hills,  and 
had  fellowship  with  the  night  and  day  of  the  earth  itself. 

XVI.  I  have  endeavored  to  give  some  idea  of  one  of  the  hollow 
balls  of  stone  which,  surrounded  by  flowing  leafage,  occur  in  varied 
succession  on  the  architrave  of  the  central  gate  of  St.  Mark's  at 
Venice,  in  Plate  I.  fig.  2.  It  seems  to  me  singularly  beautiful  in  its 
unity  of  lightness,  and  delicacy  of  detail,  ^\^th  breadth  of  light.  It 
looks  as  if  its  leaves  had  been  sensitive,  and  had  risen  and  shut 
themselv^es  into  a  bud  at  some  sudden  touch,  and  would  presently 
fall  back  again  into  their  wild  flow.  The  cornices  of  San  Michele  of 
Lucca,  seen  above  and  below  the  arch,  in  Plate  VL,  show  the  eflfect 
of  heavy  leafage  and  thick  stems  arranged  on  a  surface  whose  curve 
is  a  simple  quadi'ant,  the  light  dpng  from  off"  them  as  it  turns.  It 
would  be  difiicult,  as  I  think,  to  invent  anything  more  noble  ;  and  I 
insist  on  the  broad  character  of  their  an*angement  the  more  earnestly, 
because,  afterwards  modified  by  greater  skill  in  its  management,  it 
became  characteristic  of  the  richest  pieces  of  Gothic  design.  The 
capital,  given  in  Plate  V.,  is  of  the  noblest  period  of  the  Venetian 
Gothic ;  and  it  is  interesting  to  see  the  play  of  leafage  so  luxuriant, 
absolutely  subordinated  to  the  breadth  of  two  masses  of  light  and 
shade.  WTiat  is  done  by  the  Venetian  architect,  with  a  power  as 
in-esistible  as  that  of  the  waves  of  his  surrounding  sea,  is  done  by 
the  masters  of  the  Cis-Alpine  Gothic,  more  timidly,  and  with  a 
manner  somewhat  cramped  and  cold,  but  not  less  expressing  their 
assent  to  the  same  great  law.  The  ice  spiculae  of  the  North,  and  its 
broken  sunshine,  seem  to  have  image  in,  and  influence  on  the  work ; 
and  the  leaves  which,  under  the  Italian's  hand,  roll,  and  flo^v,  and 
bow  dowTi  over  their  black  shadows,  as  in  the  weariness  of  noon-day 
heat,  are,  in  the  North,  crisped  and  frost-bitten,  wnnklod  on  the 
edges,  and  sparkling  as  if  with  dew.  But  the  rounding  of  the 
ruUng  form  is  not  less  sought  and  felt.  In  the  lower  part  of  Plate 
I.  is  the  finial  of  the  pediment  given  in  Plate  II.,  frcm  the  cathedral 

4 


74  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

of  St.  Lo.  It  is  exactly  similar  in  feeling  to  the  Byza»itine  capital, 
being  rounded  under  the  abacus  by  four  branches  ot  thistle  leaves, 
whose  stems,  springing  from,  the  angles,  bend  outwards  and  fall 
back  to  the  head,  throwing  their  jaggy  spines  down  upon  the  full 
light,  forming  two  sharp  quatrefoils.  I  could  not  g(  t  near  enough 
to  this  fiiiial  to  see  v.'ith  what  degi-ee  of  dehcacy  tb^^-  t  pines  were 
cut ;  but  I  have  sketched  a  natural  group  of  thistle-l-  aves  beside  it, 
that  the  reader  may  compare  the  types,  and  see  with  what  mastery 
they  are  subjected  to  the  broad  form  of  the  whoL^.  The  small 
capital  from  Coutauces,  Plate  XIIL  fig.  4.,  which  is  of  earher  date, 
is  of  simpler  elements,  and  exhibits  the  principle  still  more  clearly ; 
but  the  St.  Lo  finial  is  only  one  of  a  thousand  iu=iances  which 
might  be  gathered  even  from  the  fully  developed  flamboyant,  the 
feeling  of  breadth  being  retained  in  minor  ornaments  long  after  it 
had  been  lost  in  the  main  design,  and  sometimes  capriciously 
rene^\ing  itself  throughout,  as  in  the  cylindrical  niches  and  pedestals 
which  emich  the  porches  of  Caudebec  and  Rouen.  Fig.  1.  Plate  I. 
is  the  simplest  of  those  of  Rouen ;  in  the  more  elaborate  there  are 
four  projecting  sides,  di\ided  by  buttresses  into  eight  rounded 
compartments  of  tracery ;  even  the  whole  bulk  of  the  outer  pier  is 
treated  with  the  same  feeling;  and  though  composed  partly  of 
concave  recesses,  partly  of  square  shafts,  partly  of  statues  and 
tabernacle  work,  arranges  itself  as  a  whole  into  one  richly  rounded 
tower. 

XVn.  I  cannot  here  enter  into  the  curious  questions  connected 
with  the  management  of  larger  curved  surfaces  ;  into  the  causes  of 
the  difference  in  proportion  necessary  to  be  observed  between  round 
and  square  towers  ;  nor  into  the  reasons  why  a  column  or  ball  may 
be  richly  ornamented,  while  surface  decorations  would  be  inexpedient 
on  masses  like  the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo,  the  tomb  of  Ceciha  Metella, 
or  the  dome  of  St.  Peters.  But  what  has  been  above  said  of  the 
desirableness  of  serenity  in  plane  smfaces,  applies  still  more  forcibly 
to  those  which  are  curved;  and  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  we  are, 
at  present,  considering  how  this  serenity  and  power  may  be  carried 
into  minor  divisions,  not  how  the  ornamental  character  of  the  lower 
form  may,  upon  occasion,  be  permitted  to  fret  the  calmness  of  the 
higher.  Nor,  though  the  instances  we  have  examined  are  of 
globular  or  cyhndrical  masses  chiefly,  is  it  to  be  thought  that 
breadth  can  only  be  secured  by  such  alone  :  many  of  the  noblest 


THE    LAMP    OF    POWER.  75 

forms  are  of  subdued  curvature,  sometimes  hardly  visible ;  but 
curvature  of  some  degree  there  must  be,  in  order  to  secure 
any  measure  of  grandeur  in  a  small  mass  of  light.  One  of  the 
most  marked  distinctions  between  one  artist  and  another,  in  tha 
point  of  skill,  will  be  found  in  their  relative  delicacy  of  perception 
of  rounded  surface ;  the  full  power  of  expressing  the  perspective, 
foreshortening  and  various  undulation  of  such  surface  is,  perhaps, 
the  last  and  most  difficult  attainment  of  the  hand  and  eye.  For 
instance  :  there  is,  perhaps,  no  tree  which  has  baffled  the  landscape 
painter  more  than  the  common  black  spruce  fir.  It  is  rare  that  we 
see  any  representation  of  it  other  than  caricature.  It  is  conceived 
as  if  it  grew  in  one  plane,  or  as  a  section  of  a  tree,  with  a  set  of 
boughs  symmetrically  dependent  on  opposite  sides.  It  is  thought 
formal,  unmanageable,  and  ugly.  It  would  be  so,  if  it  grew  as  it  is 
drawn.  But  the  Power  of  the  tree  is  not  in  that  chandelier-like 
section.  It  is  m  the  dark,  flat,  solid  tables  of  leafage,  which  it 
holds  out  on  its  strong  arms,  curved  shghtly  over  them  hke  shields, 
and  spreading  towards  the  extremity  like  a  hand.  It  is  vain  to 
endeavor  to  paint  the  sharp,  grassy,  intricate  leafage,  until  this  ruhng 
form  has  been  secured ;  and  in  the  boughs  that  apj^roach  the 
spectator,  the  foreshortening  of  it  is  like  that  of  a  wide  hill  country, 
ridge  just  rising  over  ridge  in  successive  distances  ;  and  the  fingei* 
hke  extremities,  foreshortened  to  absolute  bluntness,  require  f, 
delicacy  in  the  rendering  of  them  like  that  of  the  dra^^^ng  of  the 
hand  of  the  ^[agdalene  upon  the  vase  in  Mr.  Rogers's  Titian.  Get 
but  the  back  of  that  foliage,  and  you  have  the  tree ;  but  I  cannot 
name  the  artist  who  has  thoroughly  felt  it.  So,  in  all  drawing  and 
sculpture,  it  is  the  power  of  rounding,  softly  and  perfectly,  every 
inferior  mass  which  preserves  the  serenity,  as  it  foUows  the  truth,  of 
Nature,  and  which  demands  the  highest  knowledge  and  skill  from 
the  workman.  A  noble  design  may  always  be  told  by  the  back  of  a 
single  leaf,  and  it  was  the  sacrifice  of  this  breath  and  refinement  of 
surface  for  sha^'^  edges  and  extravagant  undercutting,  which 
destroyed  the  Gothis.  "ouldings,  as  the  substitution  of  the  line  for 
the  light  destroyed  tUt  Gothic  tracery.  This  change,  however, 
we  shall  better  comprehena  after  we  lave  glanced  at  the  chief 
conditions  of  aiTangement  of  the  second  Kind  of  mass  ;  that  which 
is  flat,  and  of  shadow  only. 

XVIII.  We  have  noted  above  how  the  wall  surfiice,  composed  of 


76  THE  ^AMP    OF    POWER. 

ricli  materials,  and  covered  vn.t]i  costly  work,  in  modes  which  we 
si  1  all  examine  in  the  next  Chapter,  became  a  subject  of  pecuhar 
interest  to  the  Christian  architects.  Its  broad  flat  lights  cou'  1  only 
be  made  valuable  by  points  or  masses  of  energetic  shadow,  which 
were  obtained  by  the  Eomanesque  architect  by  means  of  ranges  of 
recessed  arcade,  in  the  management  of  which,  however,  though  all 
the  effect  depends  upon  the  shadow  so  obtained,  the  eje  is  still,  as 
in  classical  architecture,  caused  to  dwell  upon  the  projecting  columns, 
ca})itals,  and  wall,  as  in  Plate  VL  But  with  the  enlargement  of 
the  window,  which,  in  the  Lombard  and  Romanesque  churches,  is 
usually  little  more  than  an  arched  slit,  came  the  conception  of  the 
simpler  mode  of  decoration,  by  penetrations  whicli,  seen  from 
within,  are  forms  of  light,  and,  from  without,  are  forms  of  shade.  In 
Itahan  traceries  the  eye  is  exclusively  fixed  upon  the  dark  forms  of 
the  penetrations,  and  the  whole  proportion  and  power  of  the  design 
are  caused  to  depend  upon  them.  The  intermediate  spaces  are, 
indeed,  in  the  most  perfect  early  examples,  filled  \nih  elaborate 
ornament ;  but  this  ornament  was  so  subdued  as  never  to  disturb 
the  simplicity  and  force  of  the  dark  masses  ;  and  in  many  instances 
is  entirely  wanting.  The  composition  of  the  whole  depends  on  the 
proportioning  and  shaping  of  the  darks  ;  and  it  is  impossible  that 
any  thing  can  be  more  exquisite  than  their  placing  in  the  head 
window  of  the  Giotto  campanile,  Plate  IX.,  or  the  church  of  Or 
San  !Michele.  So  entirely  does  the  effect  depend  upon  them,  that  it 
is  quite  useless  to  draw  Italian  tracery  in  outline  ;  if  with  any 
intention  of  rendering  its  effect,  it  is  better  to  mark  the  black  spots, 
and  let  the  rest  alone.  Of  course,  when  it  is  desired  to  obtain  an 
accurate  rendering  of  the  design,  its  lines  and  mouldings  are 
enough  ;  but  it  often  happens  that  works  on  architecture  are  of  httle 
use,  because  they  afford  the  reader  no  means  of  judging  of  the 
effective  intention  of  the  arrangements  which  they  state.  No 
person,  looking  at  an  architectural  drawing  of  the  richly  foliaged 
cusps  and  intervals  of  Or  San  Michele,  would  understand  that  all 
this  sculpture  was  extraneous,  was  a  mere  ^aed  grace,  and  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  real  anatomy  of  .ne  work,  and  that  by  a 
few  bold  cuttings  through  a  slab  of  stone  he  might  reach  the  main 
effect  of  it  all  at  once.  I  have,  therefore,  in  the  plate  of  the  design 
of  Giotto,  endeaA'ored  especially  to  mark  these  points  of  purpose  ; 
there,  as  in  every  other  instance,  black  shadows  of  a  graceful  form 


JoKn  Wiley  161  Bra 


John  WUejr  161  Broadway 


THE    LAMP    OF    POWER.  77 

/ying  on  the  white  surface  of  the  stone,  hke  dark  leaves  laid  upon 
snow.  Hence,  iis  before  observed,  the  uni^  jrsal  name  of  foil  applied 
to  such  ornaments. 

XIX.  In  order  to  the  obtaining  their  full  effect,  it  is  e\-ident  that 
much  caution  is  necessary  in  the  management  of  the  glass.  In  the 
finest  instances,  the  traceries  are  open  lights,  either  in  towers,  as  in 
this  design  of  Giotto's,  or  in  external  arcades  like  that  of  the  Campo 
Santo  at  Pisa  or  the  Doge's  palace  at  Venice  ;  and  it  is  thus  only 
that  their  full  beauty  is  shown.  In  domestic  buildings,  or  in 
windows  of  churches  necessarily  glazed,  the  glass  was  usually  with- 
drawn entirely  behind  the  tracejies.  Those  of  the  Cathedral  of 
Florence  stand  quite  clear  of  it,  casting  their  shadows  in  well 
detached  lines,  so  as  in  most  lights  to  give  the  appearance  of  a 
double  tracery.  In  those  few  instances  in  which  the  glass  was  set 
in  the  tracery  itself,  as  in  Or  San  Michele,  the  effect  of  the  latter  is 
half  destroyed  :  perhaps  the  especial  attention  paid  by  Orgagna  to 
his  surface  ornament,  was  connected  with  the  intention  of  so  glazing 
them.  It  is  singular  to  see,  in  late  architecture,  the  glass,  which 
tormented  the  bolder  arcliitects,  considered  as  a  valuable  means  of 
making  the  hues  of  tracery  more  slender  ;  as  in  the  smallest  inter- 
vals of  the  windows  of  Merton  College,  Oxford,  where  the  ghiss 
is  advanced  about  two  inches  fi'om  the  centre  of  the  tracery  bar 
(that  in  the  larger  spaces  being  in  the  middle,  as  usual),  in  order  to 
prevent  the  depth  of  shadow  from  farther  diminishing  the  apparent 
interval.  Much  of  the  lightness  of  the  effect  of  the  traceries  is 
owing  to  this  seemingly  unimportant  arrangement.  But,  generally 
speaking,  glass  spoils  all  traceries  ;  and  it  is  much  to  be  wished  that 
it  should  be  kept  well  within  them,  when  it  cannot  be  dispensed 
with,  and  that  the  most  careful  and  beautiful  designs  should  be 
reserved  for  situations  where  no  glass  would  be  needed. 

XX.  The  method  of  decoration  by  shadow  was,  as  f;\r  as  we 
have  hitherto  traced  it,  common  to  the  northern  and  southern 
Gothic.  But  in  the  carrying  out  of  the  system  they  insUmtly 
diverged.  Ha\ing  marble  at  his  command,  and  classical  decoration 
in  his  sight,  the  southern  architect  was  able  to  carve  the  inter- 
mediate spaces  with  exquisite  leafage,  or  to  vary  his  wall  surface 
with  inlaid  stones.  The  northern  architect  neither  knew  the 
ancient  work,  nor  p  assessed  the  delicate  material ;  and  he  had  no 
resoiu-ce  but  to  co  rer  his  walls  with  holes,  cut  into  foiled  shapes 


78  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

like  those  of  the  windows.  This  he  did.  Dften  -^ith  great  clumsiness 
but  always  with  a  vigorous  sense  of  composition,  and  always,  observe; 
depending  on  the  shadows  for  effect.  Where  the  wall  was  thick 
and  could  not  be  cut  through,  and  the  foilings  were  large,  those 
shadows  did  not  llll  the  entire  space  ;  but  the  form  was,  nevertheless, 
drawn  on  the  eye  by  means  of  them,  and  when  it  was  possible,  they 
were  cut  clear  through,  as  in  raised  screens  of  pediment,  like  those 
of  the  west  front  of  Bayeux ;  cut  so  deep  in  every  case,  as  to  secure, 
in  all  but  a  direct  low  front  light,  great  breadth  of  shadow. 

The  spandril,  given  at  the  top  of  Plate  VII.,  is  from  the  south- 
western entrance  of  the  Cathedral  of  Lisieux ;  one  of  the  most 
quaint  and  interesting  doors  in  Normandy,  probably  soon  to  be 
lost  for  ever,  by  the  continuance  of  the  masonic  operations  which 
have  already  destroyed  the  northern  tower.  Its  work  is  altogether 
rude,  but  full  of  spirit  ;  the  opposite  spandrils  have  different, 
though  balanced,  ornaments  very  inaccurately  adjusted,  each  rosette 
or  star  (as  the  five-rayed  figure,  now  quite  defaced,  in  the  upper 
portion  appears  to  have  been)  cut  on  its  own  block  of  stone  and 
fitted  in  with  small  nicety,  especially  illustrating  the  point  I  have 
above  insisted  upon — the  architect's  utter  neglect  of  the  forms  of 
intermediate  stone,  at  this  early  period. 

The  arcade,  of  which  a  single  arch  and  shaft  are  given  on  the 
left,  forms  the  flank  of  the  door  ;  three  outer  shafts  bearing  three 
orders  within  the  spandril  which  I  have  drawn,  and  each  of  these 
shafts  carried  over  an  inner  arcade,  decorated  above  A^ith  quatre- 
foils,  cut  concave  and  filled  vaih  leaves,  the  whole  disposition 
exquisitely  picturesque  and  full  of  strange  play  of  light  and  shade. 

For  some  time  the  penetrative  ornaments,  if  so  they  may  be  for 
convenience  called,  maintained  their  bold  and  independent  cha- 
racter. Then  they  multiphed  and  enlarged,  becoming  shallower  as 
they  did  so ;  then  they  began  to  run  together,  one  swallowing  up, 
or  hanging  on  to,  another,  hke  bubbles  in  expiring  foam — fig.  4. 
from  a  spandril  at  Bayeux,  ^ooks  as  if  it  had  been  blown  from  a 
pipe ;  finally,  they  lost  their  indi\adual  character  altogether,  and 
the  eye  was  made  to  rest  on  the  separating  hues  of  tracery,  as  we 
saw  before  in  the  window  ;  and  then  came  the  great  change  and 
the  fiiU  of  the  Gothic  power. 

XXI.  Figs  2.  and  3.,  the  one  a  quadrant  of  the  star  window  of 
the  Httle  chapel  close  to  St.  Anastasia  at  Verona,  and  the  other  a 


THE    LAMP    OF    POWER.  Y9 

very  singular  example  from  the  cliurch  of  the  Eremitani  at  Padua, 
compared  with  fig.  5.,  one  of  the  ornaments  of  the  transept  towera 
of  Rouen,  show  the  closely  correspondent  conditions  of  the  early 
Northern  and  Southern  Gothic.^°  But,  as  we  have  said,  the  Italian 
architects,  not  being  embarrassed  for  decoration  of  wall  surface,  and 
not  b'oing  obliged,  like  the  Northmen,  to  multi})ly  their  penetrations, 
h(.'ld  to  the  system  for  some  time  longer  ;  and  while  they  increased 
the  refinement  of  the  ornament,  kept  the  purity  of  the  plan.  That 
refinement  of  ornament  was  their  weak  point  however,  and  opened 
the  way  for  the  renaissance  attack.  They  fell,  like  the  old  Romans, 
by  their  luxury,  except  in  the  separate  instance  of  the  magnificent 
school  of  Venice.  That  architecture  began  with  the  luxuriance  in 
which  all  others  expired  :  it  founded  itself  on  the  Byzantine  mosaic 
and  fi-etwork  ;  and  lapng  aside  its  ornaments,  one  by  one,  while  it 
i\ed  its  forms  by  laws  more  and  more  severe,  stood  forth,  at  last,  a 
model  of  domestic  Gothic,  so  grand,  so  complete,  so  nobly  systema- 
osed,  that,  to  my  mind,  there  never  existed  an  architecture  -with  so 
stern  a  claim  to  our  reverence.  I  do  not  except  even  the  Greek 
Doric;  the  Doric  had  cast  nothing  away;  the  fourteenth  century 
Venetian  had  cast  away,  one  by  one,  for  a  succession  of  centuries, 
every  splendor  that  art  and  wealth  could  give  it.  It  had  laid  down 
its  cro^\^l  and  its  jewels,  its  gold  and  its  color,  hke  a  king  disrobing ; 
it  had  resigned  its  exertion,  like  an  athlete  reposing ;  once  capricious 
and  fantastic,  it  had  bound  itself  by  laws  in\iolable  and  serene  as 
those  of  nature  herself.  It  retained  notliiug  but  its  beauty  and  its 
power ;  both  the  liighest,  but  both  restrained.  The  Doric  flutings 
were  of  irregular  number — the  Venetian  moulding-s  were  unchange- 
able. The  Doric  manner  of  ornament  admitted  no  temptation,  it 
was  the  fasting  of  an  anchorite — the  Venetian  ornament  embraced, 
while  it  governed,  all  vegetable  and  animal  forms ;  it  was  the 
temperance  of  a  man,  the  command  of  Adam  over  creation.  I  do 
not  know  so  magnificent  a  marking  of  human  authority  as  the  iron 
grasp  of  the  Venetian  over  his  own  exuberance  of  imagination ;  the 
calm  and  solenm  restraint  with  which,  his  mind  filled  with  thoughts 
of  flowing  l«^afage  and  fiery  life,  he  gives  those  thoughts  expression 
for  an  instant,  and  then  ^\ithdraws  within  those  massy  bars  and 
levelled  cu^ps  of  stone." 

And  his  power  to  do  this  depended  altogether  on  his  retiiining 
the  forms  of  the  shadows  in  his  sight.     Far  from  carrying  the  ey« 


80  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

to  the  omaments,  upon  the  stone,  he  abandoned  these  latter  one  by 
one  ;  and  while  his  mouldings  received  the  most  shapely  order  and 
symmetry,  closely  correspondent  with  that  of  the  Rouen  tracery, 
compare  Plates  IV.  and  VIII.,  he  kept  the  cusps  within  them  per- 
fectly flat,  decorated,  if  at  all,  with  a  trefoil  (Palazzo  Foscari),  or 
fillet  (Doge's  Palace)  just  traceable  and  no  more,  so  that  the  quatre- 
foil,  cut  as  sharply  through  them  as  if  it  had  been  struck  out  by  a 
stamp,  told  upon  the  eye,  with  all  its  four  black  leaves,  miles  away. 
No  knots  of  flowerwork,  no  ornaments  of  any  kind^  were  suffered  to 
interfere  with  the  purity  of  its  form  :  the  cusp  is  usually  quite  sharp ; 
but  slightly  truncated  in  the  Palazzo  Foscari,  and  charged  with  a 
simple  ball  in  that  of  the  Doge;  and  the  glass  of  the  window, 
where  there  was  any,  was,  as  we  have  seen,  thrown  back  behind  the 
stone-work,  that  no  flashes  of  hght  might  interfere  with  its  depth. 
Corrupted  forms,  like  those  of  the  Casa  d'Oro  and  Palazzo  Pisani, 
and  several  othei's,  only  serve  to  show  the  majesty  of  the  common 
design. 

XXII.  Such  are  the  principal  circumstances  traceable  in  the  treat- 
ment of  the  two  kinds  of  masses  of  light  and  darkness,  in  the  hands 
of  the  earher  architects ;  gradation  in  the  one,  flatness  in  the  other, 
and  breadth  in  both,  being  the  quahties  sought  and  exhibited  by 
every  possible  expedient,  up  to  the  period  when,  as  we  have  before 
stated,  the  line  was  substituted  for  the  mass,  as  the  means  of  division 
of  surface.  Enough  has  been  said  to  illustrate  this,  as  regards 
tracery ;  but  a  word  or  two  is  still  necessary  respecting  the  moulchngs. 

Those  of  the  earlier  times  were,  in  the  plurality  of  instances,  com- 
posed of  alternate  square  and  cyhndrical  shafts,  variously  associated 
and  proportioned.  AVhere  concave  cuttings  occur,  as  in  the  beautiful 
west  doors  of  Bayeux,  they  are  between  cylindrical  shafts,  which  they 
throw  out  into  broad  light.  The  eye  in  all  cases  dwells  on  broad 
surfaces,  and  commonly  upon  few.  In  co.irse  of  time,  a  low  ridgy 
process  is  seen  emerging  along  the  outer  edge  of  the  cyhndrical 
shaft,  forming  a  hne  of  hght  upon  it  and  destroying  its  gradation. 
Hardly  traceable  at  first  (as  on  the  alternate  rolls  of  the  north  door 
of  Rouen),  it  grows  and  pushes  out  as  gradually  as  a  stag's  horns  : 
sharp  at  first  on  the  edge ;  but,  becoming  prominent,  it  receives  a 
truncation,  and  becomes  a  definite  fillet  on  the  face  of  the  roll.  Not 
yet  to  be  checked,  it  pushes  forward  until  the  roll  itself  becomes  sub- 
ordinate to  it,  and  is  finally  lost  in  a  shght  swell  upon  its  sides,  while 


THE    LAMP    OF    POWER.  81 

the  concavities  have  all  the  time  been  deepenin<r  and  enlarging 
behind  it,  until,  from  a  succession  of  square  or  cylindrical  masses,  the 
whole  moulding  has  become  a  series  of  concavities  edged  by  delicate 
fillets,  upon  which  (sharp  lines  of  light,  observe)  the  eye  exclusively 
rests.  While  this  has  been  taking  place,  a  similar,  though  less  total, 
change  has  affected  the  flowerwork  itself.  In  Plate  I.  fig.  2.  (a),  I 
have  given  two  from  the  transepts  of  Rouen.  It  will  be  observed 
how  absolutely  the  eye  rests  on  the  forms  of  the  leaves,  and  on  the 
three  berries  in  the  angle,  being  in  light  exactly  what  the  trefoil  is  in 
darkness.  These  mouldings  nearly  adhere  to  the  stone ;  and  are 
very  slightly,  though  sharply,  undercut.  In  process  of  time,  the 
attention  of  the  architect,  instead  of  resting  on  the  leaves,  went  to 
the  stalks.  These  latter  were  elongated  (6,  from  the  south  door  of 
St.  Lo) ;  and  to  exhibit  them  better,  the  deep  concanty  was  cut 
behind,  so  as  to  throw  them  out  in  lines  of  hght.  The  system  was 
carried  out  into  continually  increasing  intricacy,  until,  in  the  transepts 
of  Beauvais,  we  have  brackets  and  flamboyant  traceries,  composed 
of  twigs  without  any  leaves  at  all.  This,  however,  is  a  partial, 
though  a  sufficiently  characteristic,  caprice,  the  leaf  being  never  gene- 
rally banished,  and  in  the  mouldings  round  those  same  doors,  beau- 
tifully managed,  but  itself  rendered  liny  by  bold  marking  of  its  ribs 
and  veins,  and  by  turning  up,  and  crisping  its  edges,  large  interme- 
diate spaces  being  always  left  to  be  occupied  by  intertwining  stems 
(c,  from  Caudebec).  The  trefoil  of  light  formed  by  berries  or  acorns, 
though  diminished  in  value,  was  never  lost  up  to  the  last  period  of 
living  Gothic. 

XXIII.  It  is  interesting  to  follow  into  its  many  ramifications,  the 
influence  of  the  corinipting  principle ;  but  we  have  seen  enough  of  it 
to  enable  us  to  draw  our  practical  conclusion — a  conclusion  a  thou- 
sand times  felt  and  reiterated  in  the  exj)erience  and  advice  of  every 
practised  artist,  bnt  never  often  enough  repeated,  never  profoundly 
enough  felt.  Of  composition  and  invention  much  has  been  written, 
it  seems  to  me  vainly,  for  men  cannot  be  taught  to  compose  or  to 
invent ;  of  these,  the  highest  elements  of  Power  in  architecture,  I  do 
not,  therefore,  speak;  nor,  here,  of  that  pecuhar  restraint  in  the 
imitation  of  natural  forms,  which  constitutes  the  dignity  of  even  the 
most  luxuriant  work  of  the  great  periods.  Of  this  restraint  1  shall 
say  a  word  or  two  in  the  next  Chapter ;  pressing  now  only  the  con« 
elusion,  as  practically  useful  as  it  is  certain,  that  the  relative  majesty 

4* 


S2  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

of  buildings  depends  more  on  the  weight  and  vigor  of  their  masses, 
than  on  any  other  attribute  of  their  design :  mass  of  ever)i-hiug,  of 
bulk,  of  light,  of  darkness,  of  color,  not  mere  sura  of  any  of  these, 
but  breadth  of  them ;  not  broken  light,  nor  scattered  darkness,  nor 
divided  weight,  but  solid  stone,  broad  sunshine,  starless  shade.  Time 
would  fail  me  altogether,  if  I  attempted  to  follow  out  the  range  of 
the  principle  ;  there  is  not  a  feature,  however  apparently  trifling,  to 
which  it  cannot  give  power.  The  wooden  filhngs  of  belfry  lights, 
necessary  to  protect  their  interioi's  from  rain,  are  in  England  usually 
divided  into  a  number  of  neatly  executed  cross-bars,  like  those  of 
Venetian  bhnds,  which,  of  course,  become  as  conspicuous  in  their 
sharpness  as  they  are  unmteresting  in  their  precise  carpentry,  multi- 
plying, moreover,  the  horizontal  hues  which  directly  contradict  those 
of  the  architecture.  Abroad,  such  necessities  are  met  by  three  or 
four  downright  penthouse  roofe,  reaching  each  from  within  the  win- 
dow to  the  outside  shafts  of  its  mouldings ;  instead  of  the  horrible 
row  of  ruled  lines,  the  space  is  thus  divided  into  four  or  five  grand 
masses  of  shadow,  with  grey  slopes  of  roof  above,  bent  ••or  yielding 
into  all  kinds  of  delicious  swells  and  curves,  and  covered  with  warm 
tones  of  moss  and  lichen.  Very  often  the  thing  is  more  delightful 
than  the  stone-work  itself,  and  all  because  it  is  broad,  dark,  and 
simple.  It  matters  not  how  clumsy,  how  common,  the  means  are, 
that  get  weight  and  shadow — sloping  roof,  jutting  porch,  projecting 
balcony,  hollow  niche,  massy  gargoyle,  frowning  parapet ;  get  but 
gloom  and  simplicity,  and  all  good  things  will  follow  in  their  place 
and  time ;  do  but  design  with  the  owl's  eyes  first,  and  you  mil  gain 
the  falcon's  afterwards. 

XXIV.  I  am  gTieved  to  have  to  insist  upon  what  seems  so  simple : 
it  looks  trite  and  commonplace  when  it  is  written,  but  pardon  me 
this  :  for  it  is  anything  but  an  accepted  br  understood  principle  in 
priictice,  and  the  less  excusably  forgotten,  because  it  is,  of  all  the 
great  and  true  laws  of  art,  the  easiest  to  obey.  The  executive  facility 
of  complying  with  its  demands  cannot  be  too  earnestly,  too  frankly, 
asserted.  There  are  not  five  men  in  the  kingdom  who  could  com- 
pose, not  twenty  who  could  cut,  the  foliage  with  which  the  wdndows 
of  Or  San  Michele  are  adorned ;  but  there  is  many  a  village  clergy- 
man who  could  invent  and  dispose  its  black  opening's,  and  not  a 
village  mason  who  could  not  cut  them.  Lay  a  few  clover  or  wood- 
roof  leaves  on  white  paper,  and  a  little  alteration  in  their  positions 


THE    LAMP    OF    POWER.  83 

^11  suggest  figures  which,  cut  boldly  through  a  slab  of  marble 
would  be  worth  more  window  traceries  than  an  architect  could  draw 
in  a  summer's  day.  There  are  few  men  in  the  world  who  could 
design  a  Greek  capital ;  there  are  few  who  could  not  produce  some 
vigor  of  eftect  with  leaf  designs  on  a  Byzantine  block :  few  who 
could  design  a  Palladian  front,  or  a  flamboyant  pediment;  many 
who  could  build  a  square  mass  like  the  Strozzi  palace.  But  I  know 
not  how  it  is,  unless  that  our  English  hearts  have  more  oak  than 
stone  in  them,  and  have  more  filial  sympathy  with  acorns  than 
Alps  ;  but  all  that  we  do  is  small  and  mean,  if  not  worse — thin,  and 
wasted,  and  unsubstantial.  It  is  not  modern  work  only ;  we  have 
built  like  frogs  and  mice  since  the  thirteenth  century  (except  only  in 
our  castles).  What  a  contrast  between  the  pitiful  httle  pigeon-holes 
which  stand  for  doors  in  the  east  front  of  Salisbury,  looking  like  the 
entrances  to  a  beehive  or  a  wasp's  nest,  and  the  soaring  arches  and 
kingly  crowning  of  the  gates  of  Abbeville,  Rouen,  and  Rheims,  or 
the  rock-hewn  piers  of  Chartres,  or  the  dark  and  vaulted  porches  and 
writhed  pillars  of  Verona  !  Of  domestic  architecture  what  need  is 
there  to  speak  ?  How  small,  how  cramped,  how  poor,  how  miserable 
in  its  petty  neatness  is  our  best !  how  beneath  the  mark  of  attack, 
and  the  level  of  contempt,  that  which  is  common  with  us  !  What 
a  strange  sense  of  formalised  deformity,  of  shrivelled  precision,  of 
starved  accuracy,  of  minute  misanthropy  have  we,  as  w^e  leave  even 
the  rude  streets  of  Picardy  for  the  market  towns  of  Kent !  Until 
that  street  architecture  of  ours  is  bettered,  until  we  give  it  some  size 
and  boldness,  until  we  give  our  windows  recess,  and  our  walls  thick- 
ness, I  know  not  how  we  can  blame  our  architects  for  their  feebleness 
in  more  important  work ;  their  eyes  are  inured  to  narrowness  and 
slightness :  can  we  expect  them  at  a  word  to  conceive  and  deal  with 
breadth  and  solidity  ?  They  ought  not  to  live  in  our  cities  ;  there  is 
that  in  their  miserable  walls  which  bricks  up  to  death  men's  imagi- 
nations, as  surely  as  ever  perished  forsworn  nun.  An  architect 
should  Hve  as  little  in  cities  as  a  painter.  Send  him  to  our  hills,  and 
let  him  study  there  what  nature  understands  by  a  buttress,  and 
what  by  a  dome.  There  was  something  in  the  old  power  of  archi- 
tecture, which  it  had  from  the  recluse  more  than  from  the  citizen. 
The  buildings  of  which  I  have  spoken  with  chief  praise,  rose,  indeed, 
out  of  the  war  of  the  piazza,  and  above  the  fury  of  the  populace : 
auid  Heaven  forbid  that  for  such  cause  we  should  ever  liave  to  lay  a 


84  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

larger  stone,  or  rivet  a  firmer  bar,  in  our  England !  But  we  Lave 
other  sources  of  power,  in  the  imagery  of  our  iron  coasts  and  azure 
hills  ;  of  power  more  pure,  nor  less  serene,  than  that  of  the  hermit 
spirit  which  once  lighted  ^\•ith  white  hues  of  cloisters  the  glades  of 
the  Alpine  pine,  and  raised  into  ordered  spires  the  vrild  rocks  of  the 
Norman  sea  ;  which  gave  to  the  temple  gate  the  depth  and  darkness 
of  EHjah's  Horeb  cave  ;  and  lifted,  out  of  the  populous  city,  g*rey 
cliflfe  of  lonely  stone,  into  the  midst  of  saihng  birds  and  silent  air. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


THE      LAMP      OF      BEAUTY. 


I.  It  was  stated,  in  the  outset  of  the  preceding  chapter,  that  the 
vaKie  of  architecture  depended  on  two  distinct  characters :  the  one, 
the  impression  it  receives  from  human  power ;  the  other,  the  image 
it  bears  of  the  natural  creation.  I  have  endeavored  to  show  in 
what  manner  its  majesty  was  attributable  to  a  sympathy  ^vith  the 
effort  and  trouble  of  human  hfe  (a  sympathy  as  distinctly  perceived 
in  the  gloom  and  mystery  of  form,  as  it  is  in  the  melancholy  tones 
of  sounds).  I  desire  now  to  trace  that  happier  element  of  its 
excellence,  consisting  in  a  noble  rendering  of  images  of  Beauty, 
derived  chiefly  fi-om  the  external  appearances  of  organic  nature. 

It  is  irrelevant  to  our  present  purpose  to  enter  into  any  inquiry 
respecting  the  essential  causes  of  impressions  of  beauty.  I  have 
partly  expressed  my  thoughts  on  this  matter  in  a  previous  work, 
and  I  hope  to  develope  them  hereafter.  But  since  all  such  inquiries 
can  only  be  founded  on  the  ordinary  understanding  of  what  js  meant 
by  the  term  Beauty,  and  since  they  presum^j  that  the  feeling  of 
mankind  on  this  subject  is  universal  and  instinctive,  I  shall  base  my 
present  investigation  on  this  assumption ;  and  only  asserting  that  to 
be  beautiful  which  I  believe  m\\  be  granted  me  to  be  so  \\ithout 
dispute,  I  would  endeavor  shortly  to  trace  the  manner  in  which  this 
element  of  delight  is  to  be  best  engrafted  upon  architectural  design, 
what  f  'e  the  purest  sources  from  which  it  is  to  be  derived,  and 
what  t'  e  errors  to  be  avoided  in  its  pursuit. 

II.  i  ^vill  be  thought  that  I  have  somewhat  rashly  limited  the 
eleme  .fs  of  architectural  beauty  to  imitative  forms.  I  do  not  moan 
to  ass.  rt  that  every  arrangement  of  hne  is  directly  suggested  by 
a  natural  object;  but  that  all  beautiful  lines  are  adaptations  of  those 
which  are  commonest  in  the  external  creation ;  that  in  proportion  to 
the  richness  of  their  association,  the  resemblance  to  natural  work,  as 


86  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

a  type  and  help,  must  be  more  closely  attempted,  and  more  clearly 
seen ;  and  that  beyond  a  certain  point,  and  that  a  very  low  one, 
man  cannot  advance  in  the  invention  of  beauty,  without  directly 
imi  tilting  natural  form.  Thus,  in  the  Doric  temple,  the  triglyph  and 
cornice  are  unimitative ;  or  imitative  only  of  artificial  cuttings  of 
wood.  No  one  would  call  these  members  beautiful.  Their  in- 
fluence over  us  is  in  their  severity  and  simphcity.  The  fluting  of 
the  column,  which  I  doubt  not  was  the  Greek  symbol  of  the  bark 
of  the  tree,  was  imitative  in  its  origin,  and  feebly  resembled  many 
canaliculated  organic  structures.  Beauty  is  instantly  felt  in  it,  but 
of  a  low  order.  The  decoration  proper  was  sought  in  the  true  forms 
of  organic  hfe,  and  those  chiefly  human.  Again  :  the  Doric  capital 
was  unimitative ;  but  all  the  beauty  it  had  was  dependent  on  the 
precision  of  its  ovolo,  a  natural  curve  of  the  most  frequent  occur- 
rence. The  Ionic  capital  (to  my  mind,  as  an  architectural  invention, 
exceedingly  base)  nevertheless  depended  for  all  the  beauty  that  it 
had  on  its  adoption  of  a  spiral  hne,  perhaps  the  commonest  of  all 
that  characterise  the  inferior  orders  of  animal  organism  and  habita- 
tion. Farther  progress  could  not  be  made  ^^dthout  a  direct  imitation 
of  the  acanthus  leaf. 

Again  :  the  Romanesque  arch  is  beautiful  as  an  abstract  line.  Its 
type  is  always  before  us  in  that  of  the  apparent  vault  of  heaven, 
and  horizon  of  the  earth.  The  cyhndrical  pillar  is  always  beautiful, 
for  God  has  so  moulded  the  stem  of  every  tree  that  is  pleasant  to 
the  eyes.  The  pointed  arch  is  beautiful ;  it  is  the  termination  of 
every  leaf  that  shakes  in  summer  wind,  and  its  most  fortunate 
associations  are  directly  borrowed  from  the  trefoiled  grass  of  the 
field,  or  from  the  stars  of  its  flowers.  Further  than  tliis,  man's 
invention  could  not  reach  without  frank  imitation.  His  next 
step  was  to  gather  the  flowers  themselves,  and  wreathe  them  in  his 
cai>itals. 

III.  Xow,  I  would  msist  especially  on  the  fact,  of  which  I  doubt 
not  that  farther  illustrations  will  occur  to  the  mind  of  everj  reader, 
that  all  most  lovely  forms  and  thoughts  are  directly  tab  i  from 
natural  objects ;  because  I  would  fain  be  allowed  to  assume  so  the 
converse  of  this,  namely,  that  forms  which  are  not  taker  from 
natural  objects  i7iust  be  ugly.  I  know  this  is  a  bold  assumption ; 
but  as  I  have  not  s]\ice  to  reason  out  the  points  wherein  essential 
beauty  of  form  consists,  that  being  far  too  serious  a  work  to  be 


THE   LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  87 

undertaken  in  a  bye  way,  I  have  no  other  resource  than  to  use  this 
accidental  mark  or  test  of  beauty,  of  whose  truth  the  consideratiuns 
which  I  hope  hereafter  to  lay  before  the  reader  may  assure  him.  1 
say  an  accidental  mark,  since  forms  are  not  beautiful  because  they 
are  copied  from  nature ;  only  it  is  out  of  the  power  of  man  to  con- 
ceive beauty  \vithout  her  aid.  I  believe  the  reader  will  grant  me 
this,  even  from  the  examples  above  advanced ;  the  degi-ee  of  con- 
fidence with  which  it  is  granted  must  attach  also  to  his  acceptance 
of  the  conclusions  which  will  follow  fi'om  it ;  but  if  it  be  granted 
frankly,  it  will  enable  me  to  determine  a  matter  of  very  essential 
importance,  namely,  what  is  or  is  not  ornament.  For  there  are 
many  forms  of  so  called  decoration  in  architecture,  habitual,  and 
received,  therefore,  with  approval,  or  at  all  events  without  any 
venture  at  expression  or  dislike,  which  I  have  no  hesitation  in  assert- 
ing to  be  not  ornament  at  all,  but  to  be  ugly  thing-s,  the  expense  of 
which  ought  in  truth  to  be  set  down  in  the  architect's  contract,  as 
"  For  Monstrification."  I  beheve  that  we  regard  these  customary 
deformities  with  a  savage  complacency,  as  an  Indian  does  his  flesh 
patterns  and  paint  (all  nations  being  in  certain  degi'ees  and  senses 
savage).  I  beheve  that  I  can  prove  them  to  be  monstrous,  and  I 
hope  hereafter  to  do  so  conclusively  ;  but,  meantime,  I  can  allege  in 
defence  of  my  persuasion  nothing  but  this  fact  of  their  being  im- 
natural,  to  which  the  reader  must  attach  such  weight  as  he  thinks 
it  deserves.  There  is,  however,  a  peculiar  difliculty  in  using  this 
proof;  it  requires  the  writer  to  assume,  very  impertinently,  that 
nothing  is  natural  but  what  he  has  seen  or  supposes  to  exist.  I 
would  not  do  this ;  for  I  suppose  there  is  no  conceivable  form  or 
grouping  of  forms  but  in  some  part  of  the  universe  an  example  of  it 
may  be  found.  But  I  think  I  am  justified  in  considering  those 
forms  to  be  most  natural  which  are  most  frequent ;  or,  rather,  that 
on  the  shapes  which  in  the  every  day  world  are  famihar  to  the  eyes 
of  men,  God  has  stamped  those  characters  of  beauty  which  He  has 
made  it  man's  nature  to  love ;  while  in  certain  exceptional  forms  He 
has  shown  that  the  adoption  of  the  others  was  not  a  matter  of 
necessity,  but  part  of  the  adjusted  harmony  of  creation.  I  beheve 
that  thus  we  may  reason  from  Frequency  to  Beauty,  and  vice  versa  ; 
that  knowing  a  thing  to  be  frequent,  we  may  assume  it  to  be 
beautiful;  and  assume  that  which  is  most  fi-equent  to  be  most 
beautifid :  I  mean,  of  course,  visibly  frequent ;  for  the  forms  of 


88  THE   LAMP    OF   BEAUTY. 

things  whicli  are  hidden  in  caverns  of  the  earth,  or  in  the  anatomy 
of  animal  frames,  are  evidently  not  intended  by  their  Maker  to  bear 
the  habitual  gaze  of  man.  And,  again,  by  frequency  I  mean  thai 
limited  and  isolated  frequency  which  is  characteristic  of  all  perfec- 
tion ;  not  mere  multitude :  as  a  rose  is  a  common  flower,  but  yet 
there  are  not  so  many  roses  on  the  tree  as  there  are  leaves.  In  this 
respect  Nature  is  sparing  of  her  highest,  and  la\ish  of  her  less, 
beauty  ;  but  I  call  the  flower  as  frequent  as  the  leaf,  because,  each 
in  its  allotted  quantity,  where  the  one  is,  there  will  ordinarily  be  the 
other. 

IV.  The  first  so-called  ornament,  then,  which  I  would  attack  is 
that  Greek  fret,  now,  I  beheve,  usually  known  by  the  Itahan  name 
Guilloche,  which  is  exactly  a  case  in  point.  It  so  happens  that  in 
crystals  of  bismuth,  formed  by  the  imagitated  coohng  of  the  melted 
metal,  there  occurs  a  natural  resemblance  of  it  almost  perfect.  But 
crystals  of  bismuth  not  only  are  of  unusual  occurrence  in  every-day 
hfe,  but  their  form  is,  as  far  as  I  know,  unique  among  minerals  ;  and 
not  only  unique,  but  only  attainable  by  an  ailificial  process,  the 
metal  itself  never  being  found  pure.  I  do  not  remember  any  other 
substance  or  an-angement  which  presents  a  resemblance  to  this 
Greek  ornament ;  and  I  think  that  I  may  trust  my  remembrance  as 
including  most  of  the  arrangements  which  occur  in  the  outward 
forms  of  common  and  famihar  things.  On  this  ground,  then,  I 
allege  that  ornament  to  be  ugly ;  or,  in  the  literal  sense  of  the  word, 
monstrous ;  difierent  from  anything  which  it  is  the  nature  of  man 
to  admire :  and  I  think  an  uncarved  fillet  or  plinth  infinitely 
preferable  to  one  covered  with  this  \-ile  concatenation  of  straight 
hues :  unless  indeed  it  be  employed  as  a  foil  to  a  true  ornament, 
which  it  may,  perhaps,  sometimes  ^ith  advantage ;  or  excessively 
small,  as  it  occurs  on  coins,  the  harshness  of  its  arrangement  being 
less  perceived. 

V.  Often  in  association  with  this  horrible  design  we  find,  in  Greek 
works,  one  which  is  as  beautiful  as  this  is  painful — that  egg  and 
dart  moulding,  whose  perfection,  in  its  place  and  way,  has  never 
been  surpassed.  And  why  is  this  ?  Simply  because  the  form  of 
which  it  is  chiefly  composed  is  one  not  only  famihar  to  us  in  the  soft 
housing  of  the  bird's  nest,  but  happens  to  be  that  of  nearly  every 
pebble  that  rolls  and  murmurs  under  the  surf  of  the  sea,  on  all  its 
endless  shore.    And  with  that  a  pecuhar  accuracy ;  for  the  mass  which 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  89 

bears  the  light  in  this  moulding  is  not  in  good  Greek  work,  as  in 
the  f'ieze  of  the  Erechtheum,  merely  of  the  shape  of  an  Qg\r.  It 
is  flattened  on  the  upper  surface,  with  a  delicacy  and  keen  sense 
of  variety  in  the  curve  which  it  is  impossible  too  highly  to  praise, 
attaining  exactly  that  flattened,  imperfect  oval,  which,  in  nine  cases 
out  of  ten,  will  be  the  form  of  the  pebble  hfted  at  random  from  the 
rolled  beach.  Leave  out  this  flatness,  and  the  moulding  is  vulgar 
instantly.  It  is  singular  also  that  the  insertion  of  this  rounded  fijrm 
in  the  hollowed  recess  has  a  painted  type  in  the  plumage  of  the 
Argus  pheasant,  the  eyes  of  whose  feathers  are  so  shaded  as  exactly 
to  represent  an  oval  form  j^laced  in  a  hollow. 

VI.  It  will  evidently  follow,  upon  our  a]>plication  of  this  test  of 
natural  resemblance,  that  we  shall  at  once  conclude  that  all  perfectly 
beautiful  forms  must  be  composed  of  curves  ;  since  there  is  hardly 
any  common  natural  form  in  which  it  is  possible  to  discover  a 
straight  hne.  Nevertheless,  Architecture,  haWng  necessarily  to  deal 
with  straight  Hues  essential  to  its  purposes  in  many  instances  and  to 
the  expression  of  its  power  in  others,  must  frequently  be  content 
with  that  measure  of  beauty  which  is  consistent  with  such  primal 
forms ;  and  we  may  presume  that  utmost  measure  of  beauty  to 
have  been  attained  when  the  arrangements  of  such  hues  are 
consistent  with  the  most  frequent  natural  groui)ing-s  of  them  we  can 
discover,  although,  to  find  right  hues  in  nature  at  all,  we  may  be 
compelled  to  do  \dolence  to  her  finished  work,  break  through  the 
sculptured  and  colored  surfaces  of  her  crags,  and  examine  the 
processes  of  their  crystallisation. 

VII.  I  have  just  con\'icted  the  Greek  fret  of  ugUness,  because  it 
has  no  precedent  to  allege  for  its  arrangement  except  an  artificial 
form  of  a  rare  metal.  Let  us  bring  into  court  an  ornament  of 
Lombard  architects,  Plate  XIL  fig.  7,  as  exclusively  com})osed  of 
right  lines  as  the  other,  only,  observe,  with  the  noble  element 
of  shadow  added.  This  ornament,  taken  from  tlie  front  of  the 
Cathedral  of  Pisa,  is  univei*sal  throughout  the  Lombard  churches 
of  Pisa,  Lucca,  Pistoja,  and  Florence ;  and  it  will  be  a  grave  stain 
upon  them  if  it  cannot  be  defended.  Its  first  apology  for  itself, 
made  in  a  hurry,  sounds  marvellously  like  the  Greek  one,  and  highly 
dubious.  It  says  that  its  terminal  contour  is  the  very  image  of  a 
carefully  prepared  artificial  crystal  of  common  salt.  Salt  being, 
however,  a  substance  considerably  more  familiar  to  us  than  bismuth, 


90  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

the  chances  are  soi  Jewhat  in  favor  of  the  accused  Lombard  ornament 
ah-eady.  But  it  has  more  to  say  for  itself,  and  more  to  the  purpose 
namely,  that  its  main  outUne  is  one  not  only  of  natural  crystallisation, 
but  among  the  very  first  and  commonest  of  crystalhne  forms,  being 
the  primal  condition  of  the  occurrence  of  the  oxides  of  iron,  copper, 
and  tin,  of  the  sulphurets  of  iron  and  lead,  of  fluor  spar,  &c. ;  and 
that  those  projecting  forms  in  its  surface  represent  the  conditions 
of  structiu-e  which  eftect  the  change  into  another  relative  and  equally 
common  crystalhne  form,  the  cube.  This  is  quite  enough.  We 
may  rest  assured  it  is  as  good  a  combination  of  such  simple  right 
lines  as  can  be  put  together,  and  gracefully  fitted  for  every  place  in 
which  such  hues  are  necessary. 

VIII.  The  next  ornament  whose  cause  I  would  try  is  that  of  our 
Tudor  work,  the  portcullis.  Reticulation  is  common  enough  in 
natural  form,  and  very  beautiful ;  but  it  is  either  of  the  most  delicate 
and  gauz}^  texture,  or  of  variously  sized  meshes  and  undulating 
lines.  There  is  no  family  relation  between  portculhs  and  cobwebs 
or  beetles'  Things ;  something  hke  it,  perhaps,  may  be  found  in  some 
kinds  of  crocodile  armor  and  on  the  backs  of  the  Northern  divers, 
but  always  beautifully  varied  in  size  of  mesh.  There  is  a  dignity  in 
the  thing  itself,  if  its  size  were  exhibited,  and  the  shade  given 
through  its  bars ;  but  even  these  merits  are  taken  away  in  the  Tudor 
diminution  of  it,  set  on  a  sohd  surface.  It  has  not  a  single  syllable, 
I  beheve,  to  say  in  its  defence.  It  is  another  monster,  absolutely 
and  unmitigatedly  frightful.  All  that  car%ing  on  Henry  the 
Seventh's  Chapel  simply  deforms  the  stones  of  it. 

In  the  same  clause  with  the  portcullis,  we  may  condemn  all 
heraldic  decoration,  so  far  as  beauty  is  its  object.  Its  pride  and 
significance  have  their  proper  place,  fitly  occurring  in  piomins/nt 
parts  of  the  building,  as  over  its  gates ;  and  allowably  in  places 
where  its  legendary  may  be  plainly  read,  as  in  painted  windows, 
bosses  of  ceihng-s,  <fec.  And  sometimes,  of  course,  the  forms  which 
it  presents  may  be  beautiful,  as  of  animals,  or  simple  symbols  hke 
the  fleur-de-hs;  but,  for  the  most  part,  heraldic  similitudes  and 
aiTangements  are  so  professedly  and  pointedly  unnatural,  that  it 
wou.d  be  difficult  to  invent  anything  uglier ;  and  the  use  of  them 
as  a  repeated  decoration  will  utterly  destroy  both  the  power  and 
beauty  of  any  building.  Common  sense  and  courtesy  also  forbid 
their  repetition.     It  is  right  to  tell  those  who  enter  your  doors  that 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  91 

you  are  such  a  one,  and  of  such  a  rank  ;  but  to  tell  it  to  them  ai^ain 
and  aL;"ain,  wherever  thev  turn,  becomes  soon  impertinenc<.^,  and  at 
last  folly.  Let,  therefore,  the  entire  bearings  occur  in  few  places, 
and  these  not  considered  as  an  ornament,  but  as  an  inscription  ;  and 
for  fr»'ipent  appliance,  let  any  single  and  foir  symbol  be  chosen  out 
of  them.  Thus  we  may  multiply  as  much  as  we  choose  the  French 
flour-de-lis,  or  the  Florentine  g"iglio  bianco,  or  the  English  rose ;  but 
we  must  not  multiply  a  King's  arms. 

IX.  It  will  also  follow,  fi'om  these  considerations,  that  if  any  one 
part  of  heraldic  decoration  be  worse  than  another,  it  is  the  motto  ; 
since,  of  all  things  unlike  nature,  the  forms  of  letters  are,  perhaps,  the 
most  so.  Even  gTaphic  tellurium  and  felspar  look,  at  their  clearest, 
anvthinor  but  legible.  All  letters  are,  therefore,  to  be  considered  as 
fnghtful  things,  and  to  be  endured  only  upon  occasion  ;  that  is  to 
say,  in  places  where  the  sense  of  the  inscription  is  of  more 
importance  than  external  ornament.  Inscriptions  in  churches,  in 
rooms,  and  on  pictures,  are  often  desirable,  but  they  are  not  to  be 
considered  as  architectural  or  pictorial  ornaments  :  they  are,  on  the 
contrary,  obstinate  offences  to  the  eye,  not  to  be  suffered  except 
when  their  intellectual  office  introduces  them.  Place  them, 
therefore,  where  they  will  be  read,  and  there  only  ;  and  let  them  be 
plainly  wTitten,  and  not  turned  upside  down,  nor  wrong  end  tirst. 
It  is  an  ill  sacrifice  to  beauty  to  make  that  illegible  whose  only  merit 
is  in  its  sense.  Write  it  jis  you  would  speak  it,  simply ;  and  do  not 
draw  the  eye  to  it  when  it  would  foin  rest  elsewhere,  nor  recommend 
your  sentence  by  anything  but  a  little  openness  of  place  and 
architectural  silence  about  it.  Write  the  Commandments  on  the 
church  walls  where  they  may  be  plainly  seen,  but  do  not  put  a  dash 
and  a  tail  to  every  letter  ;  and  remember  that  you  are  an  architect, 
not  a  writing  master. 

X.  Inscni)tions  appear  sometimes  to  be  introduced  for  the  sake 
of  the  scroll  on  which  they  are  written ;  and  in  late  and  modern 
painted  glass,  as  well  as  in  architecture,  these  scrolls  are  flourished 
and  turned  hither  and  thither  as  if  they  were  ornamental. 
Ribands  occur  frequently  in  arabesques, — in  some  of  a  high  order, 
too, — tying  up  flowers,  or  flitting  in  and  out  among  the  fixed  forms. 
Is  there  anything  hke  ribands  in  nature  i  It  might  be  thought  that 
grass  and  sea-weed  afforded  apologetic  types.  They  do  not.  There 
is  a  ^-ide  difference  between  their  structm-e  and  that  of  a  riband. 


02  THE    LAMP    OF   BEAUTY. 

They  have  a  skeleton,  an  anatomy,  a  central  rib,  or  fibre,  or  frame- 
work of  some  kind  or  another,  which  has  a  beginning  and  an  end, 
a  root  and  head,  and  whose  make  and  strength  effects  every 
direction  of  their  motion,  and  every  line  of  their  form.  The  loosest 
weed  that  drifts  and  waves  under  the  heaving  of  the  sea,  or  hangs 
heavily  on  the  brown  and  sHppery  shore,  has  a  marked  strength, 
structure,  elasticity,  gradation  of  substance  ;  its  extremities  are  more 
finely  fibred  than  its  centre,  its  centre  than  its  root :  every  fork  of 
its  ramification  is  measured  and  proportioned ;  every  wave  of  its 
languid  lines  is  love.  It  has  its  allotted  size,  and  place,  and  function ; 
it  is  a  specific  creature.  What  is  there  hke  this  in  a  riband  ?  It  has 
no  structure  :  it  is  a  succession  of  cut  threads  all  alike ;  it  has  no 
skeleton,  no  make,  no  form,  no  size,  no  will  of  its  own.  You  cut  it 
and  crush  it  into  what  you  will.  It  has  no  strength,  no  languor. 
It  cannot  fall  into  a  single  graceful  form.  It  cannot  wave,  in  the 
true  sense,  but  only  flutter  :  it  cannot  bend,  in  the  true  sense,  but 
only  turn  and  be  wTinkled.  It  is  a  \nle  thing  ;  it  spoils  all  that  is 
near  its  wretched  film  of  an  existence.  Never  use  it.  Let  the 
flowers  come  loose  if  they  caimot  keep  together  without  being  tied  ; 
leave  the  sentence  unwritten  if  you  cannot  write  it  on  a  tablet  or 
book,  or  plain  roll  of  paper.  I  know  what  authority  there  is  against 
me.  I  remember  the  scrolls  of  Perugino's  angels,  and  the  ribands 
of  Raphael's  arabesques,  and  of  Ghiberti's  glorious  bronze  flowers : 
no  matter ;  they  are  every  one  of  them  vices  and  uglinesses. 
Raphael  usually  felt  this,  and  used  an  honest  and  rational  tablet,  as 
in  the  Madonna  di  Fuligno.  I  do  not  say  there  is  any  type  of  such 
tablets  in  nature,  but  all  the  difference  lies  in  the  fact  that  the  tablet 
is  not  considered  as  an  ornament,  and  the  riband,  or  flying  scroll,  is. 
The  tablet,  as  in  Albert  Durer's  Adam  and  Eve,  is  introduced  for  the 
sake  of  the  writing,  understood  and  allowed  as  an  ugly  but  necessary 
interruption.  The  scroll  is  extended  as  an  ornamental  form,  which 
it  is  not,  nor  ever  can  be. 

XL  But  it  will  be  said  that  all  this  want  of  organisation  and 
form  might  be  affirmed  of  drapery  also,  and  that  this  latter  is  a 
noble  subject  of  sculpture.  By  no  means.  When  was  di-apery  a 
subject  of  sculpture  by  itself,  except  in  the  form  of  a  handkerchief 
on  urns  in  the  seventeenth  century  and  in  some  of  the  baser  scenic 
Italian  decorations  ?  Drapery,  as  such,  is  always  ignoble ;  it 
becomes  a  sub  act  of  interest  only  by  the  colors  it  bears,  and  the 


THE    LAMP    OF   BEAUTY.  93 

impressions  which  it  receives  from  some  foreign  form  or  force.  All 
noble  draperies,  either  in  painting  or  sculpture  (color  and  texture 
being  at  present  out  of  our  consideration),  have,  so  far  as  they  are 
anything  more  than  necessities,  one  of  two  great  functions ;  they  are 
the  exponents  of  motion  and  of  gravitation.  They  are  the  most 
valuable  means  of  expressing  past  as  well  as  present  motion  in  the 
figure,  and  they  are  almost  the  only  means  of  indicating  to  the  eye 
the  force  of  gravity  which  resists  such  motion.  The  Greeks  used 
drapery  in  sculpture  for  the  most  part  as  an  ugly  necessity,  but 
availed  themselves  of  it  gladly  in  all  representation  of  action, 
exaggerating  the  arrangements  of  it  which  express  lightness  in  the 
material,  and  fallow  gesture  in  the  person.  The  Christian  sculptoi-s, 
caring  Httle  for  the  body,  or  disliking  it,  and  depending  exclusively 
on  the  countenance,  received  drapery  at  first  contentedly  as  a  veil, 
but  soon  perceived  a  capacity  of  expression  in  it  which  the  Greek 
had  not  seen  or  had  despised.  The  principal  eltMuont  of  this 
expression  was  the  entire  removal  of  agitation  from  what  was  so  pre- 
eminently capable  of  being  agitated.  It  fell  from  their  human 
forms  plumb  down,  sweeping  the  ground  heavily,  and  conceahng  the 
feet ;  while  the  Greek  drapery  was  often  blow^n  away  from  the 
thigh.  The  thick  and  coarse  stuffs  of  the  monkish  dresses,  so 
absolutely  o}>posed  to  the  thin  and  gauzy  web  of  antique  material, 
suggested  simidicity  of  division  as  well  as  weight  of  fall.  There 
was  no  crushing  nor  subdividing  them.  And  thus  the  drapery 
gradually  came  to  represent  the  spirit  of  repose  as  it  before  had  of 
motion,  repose  saintly  and  severe.  The  wind  had  no  power  upon 
the  gannent,  as  the  passion  none  upon  the  soul ;  and  the  motion  of 
the  figure  only  bent  into  a  softer  fine  the  stillness  of  the  falling  veil, 
follow^ed  by  it  like  a  slow  cloud  by  drooping  rain  :  only  in  links  of 
lighter  undulation  it  followed  the  dances  of  the  angels. 

Thus  treated,  drapery  is  indeed  noble  ;  but  it  is  as  an  exponent 
of  other  and  higher  things.  As  that  of  gi'a\itation,  it  has  especial 
majesty,  being  hterally  the  only  means  we  have  of  fully  representing 
this  mysterious  natural  force  of  earth  (for  falhng  water  is  less 
passive  and  less  defined  in  its  lines).  So,  again,  in  sails  it  is 
beautiful  because  it  receives  the  forms  of  solid  curved  surface,  and 
expresses  the  force  of  another  invisible  element.  But  drapery 
trusted  to  its  own  merits,  and  given  for  its  own  sake, — drapoiy  hke 
that  of  Cai'lo  Dolci  and  the  Caraccis, — is  always  base. 


94  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

XII.  Closely  connected  with  the  abuse  of  scrolls  and  bands,  ia 
that  of  garlands  and  festoons  of  jflowers  as  an  architectural 
decoration,  for  unnatural  arrangements  are  just  as  ugly  as  unnatural 
forms  ;  and  architecture,  in  borrowing  the  objects  of  nature,  is 
bound  to  place  them,  as  far  as  may  be  in  her  power,  in  such 
associations  as  may  belit  and  express  their  origin.  She  is  not  to 
imitate  directly  the  natural  arrangement ;  she  is  not  to  carve 
irregular  stems  of  ivy  up  her  columns  to  account  for  the  leaves  at  the 
top,  but  she  is  nevertheless  to  place  her  most  exuberant  vegetable 
ornament  just  where  Nature  would  have  placed  it,  and  to  give  some 
indication  of  that  radical  and  connected  structure  which  Nature 
would  have  given  it.  Thus  the  Corinthian  capital  is  beautiful, 
because  it  expands  under  the  abacus  just  as  Nature  would  have 
expanded  it ;  and  because  it  looks  as  if  the  leaves  had  one  root, 
though  that  root  is  unseen.  And  the  flamboyant  leaf  mouldings 
are  beautiful,  because  they  nestle  and  run  up  the  hollows,  and  till 
the  angles,  and  clasp  the  shafts  which  natural  leaves  would  have 
delighted  to  fill  and  to  clasp.  They  are  no  mere  cast  of  natural 
leaves  :  they  are  counted,  orderly,  and  architectural :  but  they  are 
naturally,  and  therefore  beautifully,  placed. 

XIII.  Now  I  do  not  moan  to  say  that  Nature  never  uses  festoons : 
she  loves  them,  and  uses  them  lavishly  ;  and  though  she  does  so 
only  in  those  places  of  excessive  luxuriance  wherein  it  seems  to  me 
that  architectural  types  should  seldom  be  sought,  yet  a  falling  tendril 
or  pendent  bough  might,  if  managed  with  freedom  and  grace,  be 
well  introduced  into  luxuriant  decoration  (or  if  not,  it  is  not  their 
want  of  beauty,  but  of  architectural  fitness,  which  incapacitates 
them  for  such  uses).  But  what  resemblance  to  such  example  can 
we  trace  in  a  mass  of  all  manner  of  fruit  and  flowers,  tied  heavily 
into  a  long  bunch,  thickest  in  the  middle,  and  pinned  up  by  both 
ends  against  a  dead  wall  ?  For  it  is  strange  that  the  wildest  and 
most  fanciful  of  the  builders  of  truly  luxuriart  architecture  never 
ventured,  so  far  as  I  know,  even  a  pendeni  tendiil ;  while  the 
severest  masters  of  the  revived  Greek  permitted  this  extraordinary 
piece  of  luscious  ugliness  to  be  fastened  in  the  middle  of  their  blank 
surfaces.  So  surely  as  this  arrangement  is  adopted,  the  whole  value 
of  the  flowerwork  is  lost.  "Wlio  among  the  crowds  that  gaze  upon 
the  building  ever  pause  to  admire  the  flower  work  of  St.  Paul's  ?  It 
is  ;4s  careful  and  as  rich  as  it  can  be,  yet  it  adds  no  delightfulness  to 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  95 

the  edifice.  It  is  no  part  of  it.  It  is  an  ugly  excrescence.  We 
always  con  .jeive  the  building  \vithout  it,  and  should  be  happier  if 
our  conoc]ition  were  not  disturbed  by  its  presence.  It  makes  the 
rest  of  the  arcliitecture  look  poverty-stricken,  instead  of  sublime  ; 
and  yet  it  is  never  enjoyed  itself.  Hud  it  been  put,  where  it  ought, 
into  the  capitals,  it  would  have  been  beheld  with  never-ceasing 
delight.  I  do  not  mean  that  it  could  have  been  so  in  the  present 
building,  for  such  kind  of  architecture  has  no  business  ^ith  rich 
ornament  iii  any  place  ;  but  that  if  those  groups  of  flowers  had  been 
})ut  into  natural  places  in  an  edifice  of  another  style,  their  value  would 
have  been  felt  as  vividly  as  now  their  usele^sness.  What  applies  to 
festoons  is  still  more  sternly  true  of  garlands.  A  garland  is  meant 
to  be  seen  upon  a  head.  There  it  i^  beautiful,  because  we  suppose 
it  newly  gathered  and  jo}i"ully  worn.  But  it  is  not  meant  to  be 
hung  upon  a  wall.  If  you  want  ^  a  circular  ornament,  put  a  flat 
circle  of  colored  marble,  as  in  the  Casa  Dario  and  other  such 
palaces  at  Venice ;  or  put  a  star,  or  a  medallion,  or  if  you  want  a 
ring,  put  a  sohd  one,  but  do  not  carve  the  images  of  garlands, 
looking  as  if  they  had  been  used  in  the  last  procession,  and  been 
hung  up  to  dry,  and  serve  next  time  withered.  Why  not  also 
starve  pegs,  and  hats  upon  them  ? 

XIV.  One  of  the  A\orst  enemies  of  modern  Gothic  architecture, 
though  seemingly  an  unimportant  feature,  is  an  excrescence,  as 
oflonsive  by  its  poverty  as  the  garland  by  its  profusion,  the  dripstone 
in  the  shape  of  the  handle  of  a  chest  of  drawers,  which  is  used  over 
the  square-headed  windows  of  what  we  call  Elizabethan  buildings. 
In  the  last  Chapter,  it  >\ill  be  remembered  that  the  square  form  was 
shown  to  be  that  of  pre-eminent  Power,  and  to  be  properly  adapted 
and  limited  to  the  exhibition  of  space  or  surface.  Hence,  when  the 
window  is  to  be  an  exponent  of  power,  as  for  instance  in  those  by 
M.  Angelo  in  the  lower  story  of  the  Palazzo  Ricardi  at  Florence,  the 
square  head  is  the  most  noble  form  they  can  assume;  but  then 
either  their  space  must  be  unbroken,  and  their  jissociated  moukhngs 
the  most  severe,  or  else  the  square  must  be  used  as  a  finial  outline, 
and  is  chiefly  to  be  associated  with  forms  of  tracery,  in  which  the 
relative  form  of  power,  the  circle,  is  predominant,  as  in  Venetian, 
and  Florentine,  and  Pisan  Gothic.  But  if  you  break  upon  your 
terminal  square,  or  if  you  cut  its  lines  off"  at  the  top  and  turn  them 
outwards,  you  have  lost  its  unity  and  space.     It  is  an  including  form 


96  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

no  longer,  but  an  added,  isolated  line,  and  the  ugliest  possible. 
Look  abroad  into  the  landscape  and  see  if  you  can  discover  any  one 
so  bent  and  fragmentary  as  that  of  this  strange  windlass-looking 
dripstone.  You  cannot.  It  is  a  monster.  It  unites  every  element 
of  ughness,  its  line  is  harshly  broken  in  itself,  and  unconnected  with 
every  other  ;  it  has  no  harmony  either  with  structure  or  decoration, 
it  has  no  architectural  support,  it  looks  glued  to  the  wall,  and  the 
only  pleasant  property  it  has,  is  the  appearance  of  some  hkeHhood 
of  its  dropping  off. 

I  might  proceed,  but  the  task  is  a  weary  one,  and  I  think  I  have 
named  those  false  forms  of  decoration  which  are  most  dangerous  in 
our  modern  architecture  as  being  legal  and  accepted.  The  barba- 
risms of  indi\-idual  fancy  are  as  countless  as  they  are  contemptible ; 
they  neither  admit  attack  nor  are  worth  it ;  but  these  above  named 
are  countenanced,  some  by  the  practice  of  antiquity,  all  by  high 
authority  :  they  have  depressed  the  proudest,  and  contaminated  the 
purest  schools,  and  are  so  estabhshed  in  recent  practice  that  I  write 
rather  for  the  barren  satisfaction  of  bearino^  witness  aojainst  them, 
than  with  hope  of  inducing  any  serious  convictions  to  their  pre- 
judice. 

XV.  Thus  far  of  what  is  not  ornament.  What  ornament  is,  will 
without  difficulty  be  determined  by  the  apphcation  of  the  same  test. 
It  must  consist  of  such  studious  arrangements  of  form  as  are  imita- 
tive or  suggestive  of  those  which  are  commonest  among  natural 
existences,  that  being  of  course  the  noblest  ornament  which  repre- 
sents the  highest  orders  of  existence.  Imitated  flowers  are  nobler 
than  imitated  stones,  imitated  animals  than  flowers  ;  imitated 
human  form  of  all  animal  forms  the  noblest.  But  all  are  combined 
in  the  richest  ornamental  work ;  and  the  rock,  the  fountain,  the 
flowing  river  with  its  pebbled  bed,  the  sea,  the  clouds  of  Heaven, 
the  herb  of  the  field,  the  fruit-tree  bearing  fruit,  the  creeping  thing, 
the  bird,  the  beast,  the  man,  and  the  angel,  mingle  their  fair  forms 
on  the  bronze  of  Ghiberti. 

Every  thing  being  then  ornamental  that  is  imitative,  I  would  ask 
the  reader's  attention  to  a  few  general  considerations,  all  that  can 
here  be  offered  relating  to  so  vast  a  subject ;  which,  for  convenience 
sake,  may  be  classed  under  the  three  heads  of  inquiry  : — What  is 
the  right  place  for  architectural  ornament  ?  What  is  the  peculiar 
treatment  of  ornament  which  renders  it  architectural  ?  and  what  is 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  9^ 

the  right  use  of  color  as  associated  with  architectural   imitative 
form  ?  / 

XVI.  What  is  the  place  for  ornament  ?  Consider  first  that  ther 
characters  of  natural  objects  which  the  architect  can  represent  are 
few  and  abstract.  Tlie  greater  part  of  those  delights  by  which 
Nature  recommends  herself  to  man  at  all  times,  cannot  be  conveyed 
by  him  into  his  imitative  work.  He  cannot  make  his  grass  green 
and  cool  and  good  to  rest  upon,  which  in  nature  is  its  chief  use  to 
man  ;  nor  can  he  make  his  flowers  tender  and  full  of  color  and 
of  scent,  which  in  nature  are  theh  chief  j^owers  of  gi\'ing  joy.  Those 
qualities  which  alone  he  can  secure  are  certain  severe  characters  of 
form,  such  as  men  only  see  in  nature  on  dehberate  examination,  and 
by  the  full  and  set  apphance  of  sight  and  thought :  a  man  must  he 
down  on  the  bank  of  grass  on  his  breast  and  set  himself  to  watch 
and  penetrate  the  intertwining  of  it,  before  he  finds  that  which  is 
good  to  be  gathered  by  the  architect.  So  then  while  Nature  is  at 
all  times  pleasant  to  us,  and  while  the  sight  and  sense  of  her  work 
may  mingle  happily  with  all  our  thoughts,  and  laboi-s,  and  times  of 
existence,  that  image  of  her  which  the  architect  carries  away  repre- 
sents what  we  can  only  perceive  in  her  by  chrect  intellectual  exer- 
tion, and  demands  from  us,  wherever  it  appears,  an  intellectual 
exertion  of  a  similar  kind  in  order  to  understand  it  and  feel  it.  It 
is  the  wTitten  or  sealed  impression  of  a  thing  sought  out,  it  is  the 
shaped  result  of  inquiry  and  bodily  expression  of  thought. 

XVII.  Now  let  us  consider  for  an  instant  what  would  be  the 
effect  of  continually  repeating  an  expression  of  a  beautiful  thought 
to  any  other  of  the  senses  at  times  when  the  mind  could  not  address 
that  sense  to  the  undei*standing  of  it.  Suppose  that  in  time  of 
serious  occupation,  of  stern  business,  a  companion  should  repeat  in 
our  ears  continually  some  favorite  passage  of  poetry,  over  and  over 
again  all  day  long.  We  should  not  only  soon  be  utterly  sick  and 
weary  of  the  sound  of  it,  but  that  sound  would  at  the  end  of  the 
day  have  so  sunk  into  the  habit  of  the  ear  that  the  entire  meaning 
of  the  passage  would  be  dead  to  us,  and  it  would  ever  thenceforward 
reqime  some  effort  to  fix  and  recover  it.  The  music  of  it  would  not 
meanwhile  have  aided  the  business  in  hand,  while  its  own  delight- 
fuhiess  would  thenceforward  be  in  a  measure  destroyed.  It  is  the 
same  with  every  other  form  of  definite  thought.  K  you  Niolently 
present  its  expression  to  the  senses,  at  times  when  the  mind  is  other- 

5 


98  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

wise  engaged,  that  expression  will  be  ineffective  at  the  time,  and 
will  Lave  its  sharpness  and  clearness  destroyed  for  ever.  Much 
more  if  you  present  it  to  the  mind  at  times  when  it  is  painfully 
affected  or  disturbed,  or  if  you  associate  the  expression  of  pleasant 
thought  with  incongruous  circumstances,  you  will  affect  that  expres- 
sion thenceforward  with  a  painful  color  for  ever. 

XVIII.  Apply  tills  to  expressions  of  thought  received  by  the  eye. 
Remember  that  the  eye  is  at  your  mercy  more  than  the  ear.  "  The 
eye  it  cannot  choose  but  see."  Its  nerve  is  not  so  easily  numbed  as 
that  of  the  ear,  and  it  is  often  busied  in  tracing  and  watching  forms 
when  the  ear  is  at  rest.  Now  if  you  present  lovely  forms  to  it 
when  it  cannot  call  the  mind  to  help  it  in  its  work,  and  among 
objects  of  \Tilgar  use  and  unhappy  position,  you  will  neither  please 
the  eye  nor  elevate  the  ATilgar  object.  But  you  will  fill  and  Aveary 
the  eye  with  the  beautiful  form,  and  you  Mill  infect  that  form  itself 
wdth  the  vulgarity  of  the  thing  to  which  you  have  \iolently  attached 
it.  It  \\i\\  never  be  of  much  use  to  you  any  more  ;  you  have  killed 
or  defiled  it ;  its  fi-eshness  and  purity  are  gone.  You  will  have  to 
pass  it  through  the  fire  of  much  thought  before  you  will  cleanse  it, 
and  warm  it  vnth  much  love  before  it  will  revive. 

XIX.  Hence  then  a  general  law,  of  singular  importance  in  the 
present  day,  a  law  of  simple  common  sense, — not  to  decorate  things 
belonging  to  purposes  of  active  and  occujDied  life.  Wherever  you 
can  rest,  there  decorate ;  where  rest  is  forbidden,  so  is  beauty.  You 
must  not  mix  ornament  xfith.  business,  any  more  than  you  may  mix 
play.  Work  first,  and  then  rest.  Work  first  and  then  gaze,  but  do 
not  use  golden  ploughshares,  nor  bind  ledgers  in  enameL  Do  not 
thrash  A\dth  sculptured  flails :  nor  put  bas-reliefs  on  millstones. 
What !  it  will  be  asked,  are  we  in  the  habit  of  doing  so  ?  Even  so ; 
always  and  everywhere.  The  most  familiar  position  of  Greek 
mouldings  is  in  these  days  on  shop  fronts.  There  is  not  a  trades- 
man's sign  nor  shelf  nor  counter  in  all  the  streets  of  all  our  cities, 
which  has  not  upon  it  ornaments  which  were  invented  to  adorn 
temples  and  beautify  kings'  palaces.  There  is  not  the  smallest 
advantage  in  them  where  they  are.  Absolutely  valueless — utterly 
without  the  power  of  giving  pleasure,  they  only  satiati?  the  eye,  and 
\-\ilgarise  their  own  forms.  Many  of  these  are  in  themselves 
thoroughly  good  copies  of  fine  things,  which  things  tliemselves  we 
shall   never,   in   consequence,   enjoy   any  more.     Many   a    pretty 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  99 

beading  and  graceful  bracket  there  is  in  wood  or  stucco  above  our 
grocers'  and  cheese-mongers'  and  hosiers'  shops  :  how  is  it  that  the 
tradesmen  cannot  understand  that  custom  is  to  be  had  only  by 
selling  good  tea  and  cheese  and  cloth,  and  that  people  come  to 
them  for  their  honesty,  and  their  readiness,  and  their  right  wares, 
and  not  because  they  have  Greek  cornices  over  their  windows,  or 
their  names  in  large  gilt  letters  on  their  house  fi-onts  ?  how  pleasur- 
able it  would  be  to  have  the  power  of  going  through  the  streets  of 
London,  pulling  down  those  brackets  and  friezes  and  large  names, 
restoring  to  the  tradesmen  the  capital  they  had  spent  in  architec- 
ture, and  putting  them  on  honest  and  equal  terms,  each  with  his 
name  in  black  letters  over  his  door,  not  shouted  down  the  street  from 
the  upper  stories,  and  each  with  a  plain  wooden  shop  casement, 
with  small  panes  in  it  that  people  would  not  think  of  breaking  in 
order  to  be  sent  to  prison  !  How  mucli  better  for  them  would  it  be 
— how  much  happier,  how  much  wiser,  to  put  their  trust  upon  their 
own  truth  and  industry,  and  not  on  the  idiocy  of  their  customers. 
It  is  cm-ious,  and  it  says  little  for  our  national  probity  on  the  one 
hand,  or  prudence  on  the  other,  to  see  the  whole  system  of  our 
street  decoration  based  on  the  idea  that  people  must  be  baited  to  a 
shop  as  moths  are  to  a  candle. 

XX.  But  it  will  be  said  that  much  of  the  best  wooden  decoration 
of  the  middle  ages  was  in  shop  fronts.  No  ;  it  was  in  house  fronts, 
of  which  the  shop  was  a  part,  and  received  its  natural  and  consistent 
portion  of  the  ornament.  In  those  days  men  hved,  and  intended  to 
live  hy  their  shops,  and  over  them,  all  their  days.  They  were 
contented  with  them  and  happy  in  them :  they  were  their  palaces 
and  castles.  They  gave  them  therefore  such  decoration  as  made 
themselves  happy  in  their  own  habitation,  and  they  gave  it  for  their 
own  sake.  The  upper  stories  were  always  the  richest,  and  the  sjiop 
was  decorated  chiefly  about  the  door,  which  belonged  to  the  house 
more  than  to  it.  And  when  our  tradesmen  settle  to  their  shops  in 
the  same  way,  and  form  no  i)lans  respecting  future  villa  architecture, 
let  their  whole  houses  be  decorated,  and  their  shops  too,  but  with 
a  national  and  domestic  decoration  (I  shall  speak  more  of  this  r)oint 
in  the  sixth  chapter).  However,  our  cities  are  for  the  most  part  too 
large  to  admit  of  contented  dwelling  in  them  throughout  life;  ?nd  1 
do  not  say  there  is  harm  in  our  present  system  of  separating  the 
shop  from  the  dwelhng-house  ;  only  vhere  they  are  so  separated,  let 


100  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

US  remember  that  the  only  reason  for  shop   decoration   is  removed, 
and  see  that  the  decoration  be  removed  also. 

XXI.  Another  of  the  strange  and  evil  tendencies  of  the  present 
day  is  to  the  decoration  of  the  railroad  station.  Now,  if  there  be 
any  place  in  the  world  m  which  people  are  deprived  of  that  portion 
of  temper  and  discretion  which  are  necessary  to  the  contemplation  of 
beauty,  it  is  there.  It  is  the  very  temple  of  discomfort,  and  the 
only  charity  that  the  builder  can  extend  to  us  is  to  show  us,  plainly 
as  may  be,  how^  soonest  to  escape  from  it.  The  whole  system  of 
railroad  travelhng  is  addressed  to  people  who,  being  in  a  hurry,  are 
therefore,  for  the  time  being,  miserable.  No  one  would  travel  in 
that  manner  who*  could  help  it — who  had  time  to  go  leisurely  over 
hills  and  between  hedges,  instead  of  through  tunnels  and  between 
banks :  at  least  those  who  would,  have  no  sense  of  beauty  so  acute 
as  that  we  need  consult  it  at  the  station.  The  railroad  is  in  all  its 
relations  a  matter  of  earnest  business,  to  be  got  through  as  soon  as 
possible.  It  transmutes  a  man  from  a  traveller  into  a  hving  parcel. 
For  the  time  he  has  parted  with  the  nobler  characteristics  of  his 
humanity  for  the  sake  of  a  planetary  power  of  locomotion.  Do  not 
ask  him  to  admire  anything.  You  might  as  well  ask  the  wind. 
Carry  him  safely,  dismiss  him  soon  :  he  will  thank  you  for  nothing 
else.  All  attempts  to  please  him  in  an}^  other  way  are  mere 
mockery,  and  insults  to  the  things  by  wdiicli  you  endeavor  to  do  so. 
There  never  was  more  flagrant  nor  impertinent  folly  than  the 
smallest  portion  of  ornament  in  anything  concerned  with  railroads 
or  near  them.  Keep  them  out  of  the  way,  take  them  through  the 
ugliest  country  you  can  find,  confess  them  the  miserable  things  they 
are,  and  spend  nothing  upon  them  but  for  safety  and  speed.  Give 
large  salaries  to  efficient  servants,  large  prices  to  good  manufacturers, 
large  wages  to  able  workmen ;  let  the  iron  be  tough,  and  the  brick- 
work solid,  and  the  carriages  strong.  The  time  is  perhaps  not 
distant  when  these  fii'st  necessities  may  not  be  easily  met :  and  to 
increase  expense  in  any  other  direction  is  madness.  Better  bury 
gold  in  the  embankments,  than  put  it  in  ornaments  on  the  stations. 
AVill  a  single  traveller  be  willing  to  pay  an  increased  fare  on  the 
South  "Western,  because  the  columns  of  the  terminus  are  covered 
with  patterns  from  Nineveh  ?  He  will  only  care  less  for  the 
Ninevit(3  ivories  in  the  British  Museum  :  or  on  the  North  Western, 
because  there  are  old  English-looking  snandrils  to  the  roof  of  the 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  101 

station  at  Crewe  ?  lie  will  onl}-  have  less  pleasure  in  their  proto- 
types at  Crew«.  House.  Railroad  architecture  Jias  or  w(juld  have  a 
dignity  of  its  own  if  it  were  only  left  to  its  work.  You  W(juld  not 
put  rings  on  the  fingers  of  a  smith  at  his  annl. 

XXII.  It  is  not  however  only  in  these  marked  situations  that  the 
abuse  of  which  I  speak  takes  place.  There  is  hardly,  at  present,  an 
aj)plication  of  ornamental  work,  wliich  is  not  in  some  sort  liable  to 
blame  of  the  same  kind.  We  have  a  bad  habit  of  trying  to  disguise 
disagreeable  necessities  by  some  form  of  sudden  decoration,  which 
is,  in  all  other  places,  associated  with  such  necessities.  I  will  name 
only  one  instance,  that  to  which  I  have  alluded  before — the  roses 
which  conceal  the  \entilators  in  the  flat  roofe  of  our  chapels.  Many 
of  those  roses  are  of  very  beautiful  design,  bon-owed  from  fine 
works  :  all  their  grace  and  finish  are  invisible  when  they  are  so  placed, 
but  tlieir  general  furm  is  afterwards  associated  with  the  ugly  build- 
ings in  wliich  they  constantly  occur ;  and  all  the  beautiful  roses  of 
the  early  French  and  English  Gothic,  especially  such  elaborate  ones 
as  those  of  the  triforium  of  Coutances,  are  in  consequence  deprived 
of  their  pleasurable  influence  :  and  this  ^vithout  our  having  ac- 
complished the  smallest  good  by  the  use  we  have  made  of  the 
dishonored  form.  Not  a  single  person  in  the  congregation  ever 
receives  one  ray  of  pleasure  from  those  roof  roses ;  they  aj-e  regarded 
with  mere  indiflerence,  or  lost  in  the  general  impression  of  harsh 
emptiness. 

XXIII.  Must  not  beauty,  then,  it  Avill  be  asked,  be  sought  for  in 
the  forms  which  we  associate  with  our  every-day  life  ?  Yes,  if  you 
do  it  consistently,  and  in  places  where  it  can  be  cdmly  seen ;  but 
not  if  you  use  the  beautiful  form  only  as  a  mask  an  I  covering  of  the 
proper  conditions  and  uses  of  things,  nor  if  you  thrust  it  into  tlie 
places  set  apart  for  toil.  Put  it  in  the  drawing-room,  not  into  the 
workshop  ;  put  it  upon  domestic  furniture,  not  upon  tools  of  handi- 
craft. All  men  have  sense  of  what  is  right  in  tliis  manner,  if  they 
would  only  ase  and  apply  that  sense  ;  every  man  knows  where  and 
how  beauty  g'ves  him  pleasure,  if  he  ^vould  only  ask  for  it  when  it 
does  so,  and  iiot  allow  it  to  be  forced  upon  him  when  he  does  not 
want  it.  Ask  any  one  of  the  passengers  over  London  Bridge  at 
this  instant  whether  he  cares  about  the  forms  of  the  bronze  l(.*aves 
on  its  lamps,  and  he  will  tell  you.  No.  Modify  these  forms  of  leaves 
to  a  less  scale,  and  put  them  on  his  milk-jug  at  breakfast,  and  aak 


102  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

him  whether  he  hkes  them,  and  he  will  tell  you,  Yes.  People  hav€ 
no  need  of  teaching,  if  they  could  only  think  and  speak  truth,  and 
ask  for  what  they  like  and  want,  and  for  nothin^r  else  :  nor  can  a 
right  disposition  of  beauty  be  ever  arrived  at  ex^pt  by  this  common 
sense,  and  allowance  for  the  chcumstances  of  u.e  time  and  place. 
It  does  not  follow,  because  bronze  leafage  is  in  bad  taste  on  the 
lamps  of  London  Bridge,  that  it  would  be  so  on  those  of  the  Ponte 
della  Trinita ;  nor,  because  it  would  be  a  folly  to  decorate  the  house 
fronts  of  Gracechurch  Street,  that  it  would  be  equally  so  to  adorn 
those  of  some  quiet  provincial  town.  The  question  of  greatest 
external  or  internal  decoration  depends  entirely  on  the  conditions  of 
probable  repose.  It  was  a  wise  feehng  which  made  the  streets  of 
Venice  so  rich  in  external  ornament,  for  there  is  no  couch  of  rest 
like  the  gondola.  So,  again,  there  is  no  subject  of  street  ornament 
so  wisely  chosen  as  the  fountain,  where  it  is  a  fountain  of  use ;  for  it 
is  just  there  that  perhaps  the  happiest  pause  takes  place  in  the  labor 
of  the  day,  when  the  pitcher  is  rested  on  the  edge  of  it,  and  the 
breath  of  the  bearer  is  drawn  deeply,  and  the  hair  swept  fi'om  the 
forehead,  and  the  uprightness  of  the  form  declined  against  the 
marble  ledge,  and  the  sound  of  the  kind  word  or  hght  laugh  mixes 
with  the  trickle  of  the  falling  water,  heard  shriller  and  shriller  as 
the  pitcher  fills.  'What  pause  is  so  sweet  as  that — so  full  of  the 
depth  of  ancient  days,  so  softened  "VNith  the  calm  of  pastoral 
sohtude  ? 

XXIV.  IL  Thus  far,  then,  of  the  place  for  beauty.  We  were 
next  to  inquire  into  the  characters  which  fitted  it  pecuharly  for 
architectural  appliance,  and  into  the  principles  of  choice  and  of 
arrangement  which  best  regulate  the  imitation  of  natural  forms  in 
which  it  consists.  The  full  answering  of  these  questions  would  be  a 
treatise  on  the  art  of  design :  I  intend  only  to  say  a  few  words 
respecting  the  two  conditions  of  that  art  which  are  essentially 
architectural, — Proportion  and  Abstraction.  Neither  of  these 
quahties  is  necessary,  to  the  same  extent,  in  other  fields  of  design. 
The  sense  of  proportion  is,  by  the  landscape  painter,  frequently 
sacrificed  to  character  and  accident;  the  power  of  abstraction  to 
that  of  complete  reahsation.  The  flowers  of  his  foreground  must 
often  be  unmeasured  in  their  quantity,  loose  in  their  an-angement : 
what  is  calculated,  either  in  quantity  or  disposition,  must  be  artfully 
concealed.     That  calculation  is  by  the  architect  to  be  prominently 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  103 

exhibited.  vSo  the  abstraction  of  few  characteristics  out  of  manv 
is  show  n  only  in  the  painter's  sketch ;  in  his  finished  work  it  U 
concealed  or  lost  in  completion.  Architecture,  on  the  contrary, 
delights  in  Abstraction  and  fears  to  complete  her  forms.  Proportion 
and  Abstraction,  then,  are  the  two  especial  marks  of  architectural 
design  as  dL-tii;guished  from  all  other.  Sculpture  must  have  them 
in  inferior  d'  grees  ;  leaning,  on  the  one  hand,  to  an  architectural 
manner,  when  it  is  usually  greatest  (becoming,  indeed,  a  part  of 
Architecture^',  and,  on  the  other,  to  a  pictorial  manner,  when  it  is 
apt  to  lose  it:^  ^hgnity,  and  sink  into  mere  ingenious  car\ing. 

XXV.  Now,  of  Proportion  so  much  has  been  written,  that  I 
beheve  the  only  facts  which  are  of  practical  use  have  been 
overwhelmed  and  kept  out  of  sight  by  vain  accumulations  of 
particular  instances  and  estimates.  Propoitions  are  as  infinite 
(and  that  in  all  kinds  of  things,  as  severally  in  colors,  hues,  shades, 
hghts,  and  forms)  as  p)ossible  airs  in  music  :  and  it  is  just  as  rational 
an  attempt  to  teach  a  young  architect  how  to  proportion  truly  and 
well  by  calculating  for  him  the  proportions  of  fine  works,  as  it  would 
be  to  teach  him  to  compose  melodies  by  calculating  the  mathematical 
relations  of  the  notes  in  Beethoven's  Adelaide  or  Mozart's  Requiem. 
The  man  wlio  has  eye  and  intellect  will  invent  beautiful  proportions, 
and  cannot  help  it ;  but  he  can  no  more  tell  us  how  to  do  it  than 
Wordsworth  could  tell  us  how  to  vrnte  a  sonnet,  or  than  Scott 
could  have  told  us  how  to  plan  a  romance.  But  there  are  one  or 
two  general  laws  which  can  be  told :  they  are  of  no  use,  indeed, 
except  as  •  preventives  of  gToss  mistake,  but  they  are  so  far  worth 
telhng  and  remembering ;  and  the  more  so  because,  in  the  discussion 
of  the  subtle  laws  of  proportion  (which  will  never  be  either  numbered 
or  known),  architects  are  perpetually  forgetting  and  transgressing 
the  very  simplest  of  its  necessities. 

XXVI.  Of  which  the  first  is,  that  wherever  Proportion  exists  at 
all,  one  member  of  the  composition  must  be  either  larger  than,  or  in 
some  way  supreme  over,  the  rest.  There  is  no  proportion  between 
equal  things.  They  can  have  symmetry  only,  and  synmietry  without 
proportion  is  not  composition.  It  is  necessary  to  perfect  beauty,  but 
it  is  the  least  necessary  of  its  elements,  nor  of  course  is  there  any 
difficulty  in  obtaining  it.  Any  succession  of  equal  things  is 
agreeable  ;  but  to  compose  is  to  arrange  unequal  things,  and  the 
first  thing  to  be  done  in  beginning  a  composition  is  to  determine 


104  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUITT. 

wliicli  is  to  be  the  principal  tiling.  I  believe  that  all  that  has  beer 
written  and  taught  about  proportion,  put  together,  is  not  to  tha 
architect  worth  the  single  rule,  well  enforced,  "  Have  one  large  thing 
and  several  smaller  things,  or  one  principal  thing  and  several  inferior 
things,  and  bind  them  well  together."  Sometimes  there  may  be  a 
reg.ilar  gi'adation,  as  between  the  heights  of  stories  in  good  designs 
foi  houses ;  sometimes  a  monarch  with  a  lowly  train,  as  in  the  spire 
A\dth  its  pinnacles  :  the  varieties  of  arrangement  are  infinite,  but  the 
law  is  universal — have  one  thing  above  the  rest,  either  by  size,  or 
oflBce,  or  interest.  Don't  put  the  pinnacles  without  the  spire. 
"WTiat  a  host  of  ugly  church  towers  have  we  in  England,  with 
pinnacles  at  the  cornei-s,  and  none  in  the  middle  !  How  many 
buildings  like  King's  College  Chapel  at  Cambridge,  looking  hke 
tables  upside  doTNH,  with  their  four  legs  in  the  au* !  ^^^lat !  it  will 
be  said,  have  not  beasts  four  legs  ?  Yes,  but  legs  of  different 
shapes,  and  A^ith  a  head  between  them.  So  they  have  a  pair  of 
eai-s  :  and  perhaps  a  pair  of  horns  :  but  not  at  both  ends.  Knock 
down  a  couple  of  pinnacles  at  either  end  in  King's  College  Chapel, 
and  you  will  have  a  kind  of  proportion  instantly.  So  in  a  cathedral 
you  may  have  one  tower  in  the  centre,  and  two  at  the  west  end ; 
or  two  at  the  west  end  only,  though  a  woi^e  arrangement :  but  you 
must  not  have  two  at  the  west  and  two  at  the  east  end,  unless  you 
have  some  central  meml^er  to  connect  them  ;  and  even  then, 
buildings  are  generally  bad  which  have  large  balancing  features  at 
the  extremities,  and  small  connecting  ones  in  the  centre,  because  it 
is  not  easy  then  to  make  the  centre  dominant.  The  bird  or  moth 
may  indeed  have  wide  wing-s,  because  the  size  of  the  mng  does  not 
give  supremacy  to  the  wing.  The  head  and  life  are  the  mighty 
things,  and  the  plumes,  however  wide,  are  subordinate.  In  fine 
west  fi'onts  with  a  pediment  and  two  towers,  the  centre  is  always 
the  principal  mass,  both  in  bulk  and  interest  (as  ha^ing  the  main 
gateway),  and  the  towers  are  subordinated  to  it,  as  an  animal's  horns 
are  to  its  head.  The  moment  the  towers  rise  so  high  as  to  overpower 
the  body  and  centre,  and  become  themselves  the  principal  masses, 
they  will  destroy  the  proportion,  unless  they  are  made  unequal,  and 
one  of  them  the  leading  feature  of  the  cathedral,  as  at  Antwerp  and 
Strasburg.  But  the  purer  method  is  to  keep  them  down  in  due 
relation  to  the  centre,  and  to  throw  up  the  pediment  into  a  steep 
connecting  mass,  drawing  the  eye  to  it  by  rich  tracery.     This  is 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  lOfi 

nobly  donv  in  St.  Wulfi-an  of  Abbenlle,  and  attempted  partly  at 
Kouen,  though  that  west  front  is  made  up  of  so  many  unfinished 
and  supervening  designs  that  it  is  impossible  to  guess  the  real 
intention  of  any  one  of  its  builders. 

XXVII.  This  rule  of  supremacy  apphes  to  the  smallest  as  well  as 
to  the  leading  features  :  it  Is  interestingly  seen  in  the  arrangement 
of  all  good  mouldings.  I  have  given  one,  on  the  opposite  page, 
frcm  Rouen  cathedral ;  that  of  the  tracery  before  distinguished  as  a 
type  of  the  noblest  manner  of  Northern  Gothic  (Chap.  II.  §  XXIL). 
It  is  a  tracery  of  three  orders,  of  which  the  first  is  divided  into  a 
leaf  moulding,  fig.  4.  and  b  in  the  section,  and  a  plain  roll,  also  seen 
in  fig.  4.  c  in  the  section  ;  these  two  divisions  surround  the  entire 
window  or  panelling,  and  are  carried  by  two-face  shafts  of  corres- 
ponding sections.  The  second  and  third  orders  are  plain  rolls 
following  the  hne  of  the  tracery  ;  four  divisions  of  moulding  in  all : 
of  these  four,  the  leaf  moulding  is,  as  seen  in  the  sections,  much  the 
largest ;  next  to  it  the  outer  roll ;  then,  by  an  exquisite  alternation, 
the  innermost  roll  (e),  in  order  that  it  may  not  be  lost  in  the  recess, 
and  the  intermediate  (d)^  the  smallest.  Each  roll  has  its  own  shaft 
and  capital  ;  and  the  two  smaller,  which  in  effect  upon  the  eye, 
owing  to  the  retirement  of  the  innermost,  are  nearly  equal,  have 
smaller  capitals  than  the  two  larger,  hfted  a  little  to  bring  them  to 
the  same  level.  The  wall  in  the  trefoiled  lights  is  curved,  as  from 
e  to  f  in  the  section ;  but  in  the  quatrefoil  it  is  flat,  only  thrown 
back  to  the  full  depth  of  the  recess  below  so  as  to  get  a  sharp 
shadow  instead  of  a  soft  one,  the  mouldings  falling  back  to  it  in 
nearly  a  vertical  curve  behind  the  roll  e.  This  could  not,  however, 
be  managed  with  the  simpler  mouldings  of  the  smaller  quatrefoil 
above,  whose  half  section  is  given  from  ^  to  g^  *i  but  the  architect 
was  e\idently  fretted  by  the  heavy  look  of  its  circular  foils  as 
opposed  to  the  light  spring  of  the  arches  below  :  so  he  threw  its 
cusps  obliquely  clear  from  the  wall,  as  seen  in  fig.  2.,  attached  to  it 
where  they  meet  the  circle,  but  ^vith  their  finials  pushed  out  ft-om 
their  natural  level  (A,  in  the  section)  to  that  of  the  fii-st  order  (//j), 
and  supported  by  stone  props  behind,  as  seen  in  the  profile  fig.  2., 
which  I  got  from  the  correspondent  j)anc'l  on  the  buttress  face  (fig. 
1.  being  on  its  side),  and  of  which  the  lower  cusps,  being  broken 
away,  show  the  remnant  of  one  of  their  props  projecting  from  the 
wall.     The  obhque  curve  thus  obtained  in  the  profile  is  of  singular 

6* 


106  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

grace.  Take  it  all  in  all,  I  have  never  met  with  a  more  exquisite 
piece  of  varied,  yet  severe,  proportioned  and  general  aiTangement 
(though  all  the  windows  of  the  period  are  fine,  and  especially 
delightful  in  the  subordinate  proportioning  of  the  smaller  capitals  to 
the  smaller  shafts).  The  only  fault  it  has  is  the  inevitable 
misarrano:ement  of  the  central  shafts ;  for  the  enlarsrement  of  the 
inner  roll,  though  beautiful  in  the  group  of  four  divisions  at  the 
side,  causes,  in  the  triple  central  shaft,  the  very  awkwardness  of 
heavy  lateral  members  which  has  just  been  in  most  instances 
condemned.  In  the  windows  of  the  choir,  and  in  most  of  the  period, 
this  difficulty  is  avoided  by  making  the  fourth  order  a  fillet  which 
only  follows  the  foliation,  while  the  three  outermost  are  nearly  in 
arithmetical  progression  of  size,  and  the  central  triple  shaft  has  of 
course  the  largest  roll  in  front.  The  moulding  of  the  Palazzo 
Foscari  (Plate  VIII.,  and  Plate  IV.  fig.  8.)  is,  for  so  simple  a  group, 
the  grandest  in  effect  I  have  ever  seen :  it  is  composed  of  a  large 
roll  with  two  subordinates. 

XXVIII.  It  is  of  course  impossible  to  enter  into  details  of  instances 
belonging  to  so  intricate  a  division  of  our  subject,  in  the  compass  of 
a  general  essay.  I  can  but  rapidly  name  the  chief  conditions  of 
right.  Another  of  these  is  the  connection  of  Symmetry  ^^dth  hori- 
zontal, and  of  Proportion  with  vertical,  division.  Evidently  there  is 
in  symmetry  a  sense  not  merely  of  equality,  but  of  balance :  now  a 
thing  cannot  be  balanced  by  another  on  the  top  of  it,  though  it  may 
by  one  at  the  side  of  it.  Hence,  while  it  is  not  only  allowable,  but 
often  necessary,  to  divide  buildings,  or  parts  of  them,  horizontally 
into  halves,  thirds,  or  other  equal  parts,  all  vertical  diWsions  of  this 
kind  are  utterly  wrong ;  worst  into  half,  next  worst  in  the  regular 
numbers  which  more  betray  the  equality.  I  should  have  thought 
this  almost  the  first  principle  of  proportion  which  a  young  architect 
was  taught :  and  yet  I  remember  an  important  building,  recently 
erected  in  England,  in  which  the  columns  are  cut  in  half  by  the 
projecting  architraves  of  the  central  windows  ;  and  it  is  quite  usual 
to  see  the  spires  of  modern  Gothic  churches  divided  by  a  band  of 
ornament  half  way  up.  In  all  fine  spires  there  are  two  bands  and 
three  parts,  as  at  Salisbury.  The  ornamented  portion  of  the  tower 
is  there  cut  in  half,  and  allowably,  because  the  spire  forms  the  third 
mass  to  which  the  other  two  are  suborcUnate :  two  stories  are  also 
equal  in  Giotto's  campanile,  but  dominant  over   smaller  divisions 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  IQl 

below,  and  oiibordinated  to  the  noble  third  above.  Even  thii 
arrangement  i-  difficult  to  treat ;  and  it  is  usually  safer  to  increase  or 
diminish  the  lijight  of  the  divisions  regularly  as  they  rise,  as  in  thrj 
Doge's  Palace,  whose  three  di\isions  are  in  a  bold  geometrical  pro- 
gression :  or,  in  towel's,  to  get  an  alternate  proportion  between  the 
body,  the  belfrv^,  and  the  cro-vvn,  as  in  the  campanile  of  St.  Mark's 
But,  at  all  0^  nts,  get  rid  of  equahty ;  leave  that  to  children  and 
their  card  houses  :  the  laws  of  nature  and  the  reason  of  man  ara 
ahke  against  it,  in  arts,  as  in  politics.  There  is  but  one  thoroughlv 
ugly  tower  m  Italy  that  I  know  of,  and  that  is  so  because  it  is  disided 
into  vertical  o>',aal  parts  :  the  tower  of  Pisa.'^ 

XXIX.  One  more  principle  of  Proportion  I  have  to  name,  equally 
simple,  equally  neglected.  Proportion  is  between  three  terms  at 
least.  Hence,  as  the  pinnacles  are  not  enough  ^nthout  the  spire,  so 
neither  the  spire  without  the  pinnacles.  All  men  feel  this,  and 
usually  express  their  feehng  by  sapng  that  the  pinnacles  conceal  the 
junction  of  the  spire  and  tower.  This  is  one  reason  ;  but  a  more 
influential  one  is,  that  the  pinnacles  furnish  the  third  term  to  the 
spire  and  tower.  So  that  it  is  not  enough,  in  order  to  secure  propor- 
tion, to  divide  a  building  unequally  ;  it  must  be  dinded  into  at  least 
three  parts ;  it  may  be  into  more  (and  in  details  \nth  advantage), 
but  on  a  large  scale  I  find  three  is  about  the  best  number  of  parts 
in  elevation,  and  five  in  horizontal  extent,  with  fi*eedom  of  increase 
to  five  in  the  one  case  and  seven  in  the  other ;  but  not  to  more  with- 
out confusion  (in  architecture,  that  is  to  say ;  for  in  organic  structure 
the  numbers  cannot  be  limited).  I  purpose,  in  the  course  of  works 
which  are  in  preparation,  to  give  copious  illustrations  of  this  subject, 
but  I  wiQ  take  at  present  only  one  instance  of  vertical  proportion, 
from  the  flower  stem  of  the  common  water  plantain,  Alisma  Plan- 
tago.  Fig.  5.  Plate  XII.  is  a  reduced  profile  of  one  side  of  a  plant 
gathered  at  random ;  it  is  seen  to  have  five  masts,  of  which,  however, 
the  uppermost  is  a  mere  shoot,  and  we  can  consider  only  their  rela- 
tions up  to  the  fourth.  Their  lengths  are  measured  on  the  line  A  B, 
which  is  the  actual  length  of  the  lowest  mast  a  6,  A  0—h  c,  A  D=cdj 
and  A  E=d  e.  If  the  reader  will  take  the  trouble  to  measure  these 
lengths  and  compare  them,  he  will  find  that,  within  half  a  fine,  the 
uppermost,  A  E^f  of  A  D,  A  D=f  of  A  C,  and  A  C=i  of  A  B  ;  a 
most  subtle  diminishing  proportion.  From  each  of  the  joints  spring 
three  major  and  three  minor  branches,  each  between  each ;  but  tho 


108  THE    LAMP    OF    BEALTY. 

major  brandies,  at  any  joint,  are  placed  over  the  minor  branches  a 
the  joint  below,  by  the  curious  an-angeraent  of  the  joint  itself — the 
stem  is  bluntly  triangular  ;  fig.  6.  shows  the  section  of  any  joint- 
The  outer  darkened  triangle  is  the  section  of  the  lower  stem  ;  the 
inner,  left  hght,  of  the  upper  stem  ;  and  the  three  main  branches 
spring  from  the  ledges  left  by  the  recession.  Thus  the  stems 
diminish  in  diameter  just  as  they  diminish  in  height.  The  main 
branches  (falsely  placed  in  the  profile  over  each  other  to  show  their 
relations)  have  respectively  seven,  six,  five,  four,  and  three  arm- 
bones,  like  the  masts  of  the  stem  ;  these  divisions  being  propor- 
tioned in  the  same  subtle  manner.  From  the  joints  of  these,  it  seems 
to  be  the  plan  of  the  plant  that  three  major  and  three  minor  branches 
should  again  spring,  bearing  the  flowers  :  but,  in  these  infinitely  com- 
phcated  members,  vegetative  nature  admits  much  variety  ;  in  the 
plant  from  which  these  measures  were  taken  the  full  complement 
appeared  only  at  one  of  the  secondary  joints. 

The  leaf  of  this  plant  has  five  ribs  on  each  side,  as  its  flower  gene- 
rally five  masts,  arranged  with  the  most  exquisite  grace  of  curve  ;  but 
of  lateral  proportion  I  shall  rather  take  illustrations  fi'om  architecture  : 
the  reader  will  find  several  in  the  accounts  of  the  Duomo  of  Pisa  and 
St.  Mark's  at  Venice,  in  Chap.  V.  §§XIV. — XVI.  I  give  these 
arrangements  merely  as  illustrations,  not  as  precedents :  all  beautiful 
proportions  are  miique,  they  are  not  general  formulae. 

XXX.  The  other  condition  of  architectural  treatment  which  we 
proposed  to  notice  was  the  abstraction  of  imitated  form.  But  there 
is  a  pecuhai'  difficulty  in  touching  within  these  narrow  limits  on  such 
a  subject  as  this,  because  the  abstraction  of  which  we  find  examples 
in  existing  art,  is  partly  involuntary ;  and  it  is  a  matter  of  much 
nicety  to  determine  where  it  begms  to  be  purposed.  In  the  progress 
of  national  as  well  as  of  individual  mind,  the  first  attempts  at  imita- 
tion are  always  abstract  and  incomplete.  Greater  completion  marks 
the  progress  of  art,  absolute  completion  usually  its  dechne ;  whence 
absolute  completion  of  imitative  form  is  often  supposed  to  be  in  itself 
wrong.  But  it  is  not  wrong  always,  only  dangerous.  Let  us  endeavor 
briefly  to  ascertain  wherein  its  danger  consists,  and  wherein  its  dignity. 

XXXI.  I  have  said  that  all  art  is  absti*act  in  its  beginning-s  ;  that 
is  to  say,  it  expresses  only  a  small  number  of  the  qualities  of  the 
thing  represented.  Curved  and  complex  Unes  are  represented  by 
Straight  and  simple  ones ;  interior  markings  of  forms  are  few,  and 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  lOi 

mucli  is  syTnlx)lical  and  conventional.  There  is  a  resemblance 
between  the  work  of  a  great  nation,  in  this  phase,  and  the  work  of 
childhood  and  ignorance,  which,  in  the  mind  of  a  careless  observer, 
might  attach  something  hke  ridicule  to  it.  The  form  of  a  tree  ou 
the  Ninevite  sculptures  is  much  hke  that  which,  some  twenty  years 
ago,  was  familiar  upon  samplers  ;  and  the  types  of  the  face  and  figure 
in  early  Italian  art  are  susceptible  of  easy  caricature.  On  the  signs 
which  separate  the  infancy  of  magnificent  manhood  from  every  other, 
I  do  not  pause  to  insist  (they  consist  entirely  in  the  choice  of  the 
symbol  and  of  the  features  abstracted) ;  but  I  pass  to  the  next  stage 
of  art,  a  condition  of  strength  in  which  the  abstraction  which  was 
begun  in  incapability  is  continued  in  free  will.  This  is  the  case,  how- 
ever, in  pure  sculpture  and  painting,  as  well  as  in  architecture ;  and 
we  have  nothing  to  do  but  with  that  greater  severity  of  manner  which 
fits  either  to  be  associated  with  the  more  realist  art.  I  believe  it 
properly  consists  only  in  a  due  expression  of  their  subordination,  an 
expression  varying  according  to  their  place  and  office.  The  question 
is  fiist  to  be  clearly  determined  whether  the  architecture  is  a  frame 
for  the  sculpture,  or  the  sculpture  an  ornament  of  the  architecture. 
K  the  latter,  then  the  first  office  of  that  sculpture  is  not  to  represent 
the  things  it  imitates,  but  to  gather  out  of  them  those  arrangements 
of  form  which  shall  be  pleasing  to  the  eye  in  their  intended  places. 
So  soon  as  agreeable  lines  and  points  of  shade  have  been  added  to 
the  mouldings  which  were  meagre,  or  to  the  hghts  which  were  unre- 
heved,  the  architectural  work  of  the  imitation  is  accomplished ;  and 
how  far  it  shall  be  wrought  towards  completeness  or  not,  ^\ill  depend 
upon  its  place,  and  upon  other  various  circumstances.  If,  in  its  par- 
ticular use  or  position,  it  is  sjTnmetrically  arranged,  there  is,  of  coui*se, 
an  instant  indication  of  architectural  subjection.  But  symmetry  is 
not  abstraction.  Leaves  may  be  carved  in  the  most  regular  order, 
and  yet  be  meanly  imitative ;  or,  on  the  other  hand,  they  may  be 
thrown  wild  and  loose,  and  yet  be  highly  architectural  in  their  sepa- 
rate treatment.  Nothing  can  be  less  symmetrical  than  the  group  of 
leaves  which  join  the  two  cokmms  in  Plate  XIII. ;  yet,  since  nothing 
of  the  leaf  character  is  oiven  but  what  is  necessary  for  the  bare  suor- 
gestion  of  its  image  and  the  attainment  of  the  lines  desired,  their 
treatment  is  highly  abstract.  It  shows  that  the  workman  only 
wanted  so  much  of  the  leaf  as  he  supposed  good  for  his  architecture, 
and  would  allow  no  more ;  and  how  much  is  to  be  supposed  good. 


110  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

depends,  as  I  have  said,  miicli  more  on  place  and  cii'cumstance  thai 
on  (rencral  laws.  I  know  that  this  is  not  usually  tliouo-ht,  and  that 
many  good  architects  would  insist  on  abstraction  in  all  cases  :  the 
question  is  so  wide  and  so  difficult  that  I  express  my  opinion  upon  it 
most  diffidently ;  but  my  own  feeling  is,  that  a  purely  abstract  man- 
ner, like  that  of  our  earliest  Enghsh  work,  does  not  afforu  room  for 
the  perfection  of  beautiful  form,  and  that  its  severity  is  \v(3arisome 
after  the  eye  has  been  long  accustomed  to  it.  I  have  not  done  jus- 
tice to  the  Sahsbury  dog-tooth  moulding,  of  which  the  effect  is 
sketched  in  fig.  5.,  Plate  X.,  but  I  have  done  more  justice  to  it  never- 
theless than  to  the  beautiful  French  one  above  it ;  and  I  d-  >  not  think 
that  any  candid  reader  would  deny  that,  piquant  and  spii'ited  as  is 
that  from  Salisbury,  the  Rouen  moulding  is,  in  every  respeoi,  nobler. 
It  ^vill  be  observed  that  its  symmetry  is  more  comphcated,  tiie  leafage 
being  divided  into  double  groups  of  two  lobes  each,  each  lobe  of  dif- 
ferent structure.  With  exquisite  feeling,  one  of  these  double  groups 
is  alternately  omitted  on  the  other  side  of  the  moulding  (not  seen  in 
the  Plate,  but  occupying  the  cavetto  of  the  section),  thus  gnving  a 
playful  lightness  to  the  whole ;  and  if  the  reader  will  allow  for  a 
beautv  in  the  flow  of  the  curved  outlines  (especially  on  the  angle),  of 
which  he  cannot  in  the  least  judge  from  my  rude  drawing,  he  will 
not,  I  think,  expect  easily  to  find  a  nobler  instance  of  decoration 
adapted  to  the  severest  mouldings. 

Now  it  will  be  observed,  that  there  is  in  its  treatment  a  high 
degree  of  abstraction,  though  not  so  conventional  as  that  of  Salisbury : 
that  is  to  say,  the  leaves  have  little  more  than  their  flow  and  outline 
represented ;  they  are  hardly  undercut,  but  their  edges  are  connected 
by  a  gentle  and  most  studied  curve  with  the  stone  behind ;  they  have 
no  serrations,  no  veinings,  no  rib  or  stalk  on  the  angle,  only  an  inci- 
sion gracefully  made  towards  their  extremities,  inchcative  of  the 
central  rib  and  depression.  The  whole  style  of  the  abstraction  shows 
that  the  arcliitect  could,  if  he  had  chosen,  have  carried  the  imitation 
much  farther,  but  stayed  at  this  point  of  his  own  free  will ;  and 
what  he  has  done  is  also  so  perfect  in  its  kind,  that  I  feel  disposed  to 
accept  his  authority  without  question,  so  far  as  I  can  gather  it  from 
his  works,  on  the  whole  subject  of  abstraction. 

XXXII.  Happily  his  opinion  is  frankly  expressed.  This  mould- 
ing is  on  the  lateral  buttress,  and  on  a  level  with  the  top  of  the  north 
gate ;  it  cannot  therefore  be  closely  seen  except  from  the  wooden 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  11 4 

stairs  of  the  belfry  ;  it  is  not  intended  to  be  so  seen,  but  calculated 
f3r  a  distance  of,  at  least,  forty  to  fifty  feet  from  the  eye.  In -the 
va'ilt  of  the  gate  itself,  half  as  near  again,  there  are  three  rows  of 
mouldings,  as  I  think,  by  the  same  designer,  at  all  events  part  of  the 
same  plan.  One  of  them  is  given  in  Plate  I.  fig.  2.  a.  It  will  be 
seen  that  the  abstraction  is  here  infinitely  less  ;  the  ivy  leaves  have 
stalks  and  associated  fruit,  and  a  rib  for  each  lobe,  and  are  so  far 
undercut  as  to  detach  their  forms  from  the  stone ;  while  in  the  vine- 
leaf  moulding  above,  of  the  same  period,  from  the  south  gate,  serra- 
tion appears  added  to  other  purely  imitative  characters.  Finally,  in 
the  animals  which  form  the  ornaments  of  the  portion  of  the  gate 
which  is  close  to  the  eye,  abstraction  nearly  vanishes  into  perfect 
sculpture. 

XXXIII.  Nearness  to  the  eye,  however,  is  not  the  only  circum- 
stance which  influences  architectural  abstraction.  These  very  animals 
are  not  merely  better  cut  because  close  to  the  eye ;  they  are  put 
close  to  the  eye  that  they  may,  without  indiscretion,  be  better  cut, 
on  the  noble  principle,  first,  I  think,  clearly  enunciated  by  Mr.  East- 
lake,  that  the  closest  imitation  shall  be  of  the  noblest  object.  Farther, 
since  the  wnldness  and  manner  of  growth  of  vegetation  render  a 
bona  fide  imitation  of  it  impossible  in  sculpture — since  its  members 
must  be  reduced  in  number,  ordered  in  direction,  and  cut  away  from 
their  roots,  even  under  the  most  earnestly  imitative  treatment, — it 
becomes  a  point,  as  I  think,  of  good  judgment,  to  proportion  the 
completeness  of  execution  of  parts  to  the  formality  of  the  whole  ;  and 
since  five  or  six  leaves  must  stand  for  a  tree,  to  let  also  five  or  six 
touches  stand  for  a  leaf  But  since  the  animal  generally  admits  of 
perfect  outline — since  its  form  is  detached,  and  may  be  fully  repre- 
sented, its  sculi)ture  may  be  more  complete  and  ftiithful  in  all  its 
parts.  And  this  princi})le  ydW  be  actually  found,  I  believe,  to  guide 
the  old  workmer.  If  the  animal  form  be  in  a  gargoyle,  incom- 
plete, and  coming  out  of  a  block  of  stone,  or  if  a  head  only,  as  for 
a  boss  or  other  such  partial  use,  its  sculpture  ^vill  be  highly  abstract. 
But  if  it  be  an  entire  animal,  as  a  lizard,  or  a  bird,  or  a  squirrel, 
peeping  among  loafoge,  its  sculpture  ^^^ll  be  much  farther  carried, 
and  I  think,  if  small,  near  the  eye,  and  worked  in  a  tine  material, 
may  rightly  be  carried  to  the  utmost  possible  completion.  Surely 
we  cannot  ^^^sh  a  Icvss  finish  bestowed  on  those  which  animate  the 
mouldino^  of  the  south  door  of  the  cathedral  of  Florence ;  nor  desire 


il2  THi5    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

that  the  birds  in  the  capitals  of  the  Doge's  palace  should  be  stripped 
of  a  single  plume. 

XXXIV.  Under  these  hmitations,  then,  I  think  that  perfect  sculp- 
ture may  be  made  a  part  of  the  severest  architecture ;  but  this 
perfection  was  said  in  the  outset  to  be  dangerous.  It  is  so  in  the 
highest  degree  ;  for  the  moment  the  architect  allows  himself  to  dwell 
on  the  imitated  portions,  there  is  a  chance  of  his  losing  sight  of  the 
duty  of  his  ornament,  of  its  business  as  a  part  of  the  composition,  and 
sacrificing  its  points  of  shade  and  effect  to  the  delight  of  delicate 
carvinof.  And  then  he  is  lost.  His  architecture  has  become  a  mere 
framework  for  the  setting  of  delicate  sculpture,  which  had  better  be 
all  taken  down  and  put  into  cabinets.  It  is  well,  therefore,  that  the 
young  architect  should  be  taught  to  think  of  imitative  ornament  as 
of  the  extreme  of  grace  in  language ;  not  to  be  regarded  at  first, 
not  to  be  obtained  at  the  cost  of  purpose,  meaning,  force,  or  concise- 
ness, yet,  indeed,  a  perfection — the  least  of  all  perfections,  and  yet 
the  crowning  one  of  all — one  which  by  itself,  and  regarded  in  itself, 
is  an  architectm-al  coxcombry,  but  is  yet  the  sign  of  the  most  highly- 
trained  mind  and  power  when  it  is  associated  with  others.  It  is  a 
safe  manner,  as  I  think,  to  design  all  things  at  first  in  severe  abstrac- 
tion, and  to  be  prepared,  if  need  were,  to  carry  them  out  in  that  form  ; 
then  to  mark  the  parts  where  high  finish  would  be  admissible,  to 
complete  these  always  with  stern  reference  to  their  general  efiect, 
and  then  connect  them  by  a  graduated  scale  of  abstraction  with 
the  rest.  And  there  is  one  safeguard  against  danger  in  this  process 
on  which  I  would  finally  insist.  Never  imitate  anything  but  natural 
forms,  and  those  the  noblest,  in  the  completed  parts.  The  degrada- 
tion of  the  cinque  cento  manner  of  decoration  was  not  owing  to  its 
naturalism,  to  its  faithfulness  of  imitation,  but  to  its  imitation  of  ugly, 
i.  e.  unnatural  things.  So  long  as  it  restrained  itself  to  sculpture 
of  animals  and  flowers,  it  remained  noble.  The  balcony,  on  the  oppo- 
site page,  from  a  house  in  the  Campo  St.  Benedetto  at  Venice,  shows 
one  of  the  earhest  occurrences  of  the  cinque  cento  arabesque,  and  a 
fi:agment  of  the  pattern  is  given  in  Plate  XII.  fig.  8.  It  is  but  the 
arresting  upon  the  stone  work  of  a  stem  or  two  of  the  linng  flowers, 
which  are  rarely  wanting  in  the  window  above  (and  which,  by  the 
by,  the  French  and  Italian  peasantry  often  trellis  with  exquisite  taste 
about  their  casements).  This  arabesque,  i-elieved  as  it  is  in  darkr^esa 
from  the  white  stone  by  the  stain  of  time,  is  surely  both  beautifuj 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  113 

and  pure ;  and  as  long  as  the  renaissance  ornament  remained  in  rsuch 
forms  it  may  be  beheld  with  undeserved  admiration.  But  the 
moment  that  unnatural  objects  were  associated  with  these,  and  armor, 
and  musical  instruments,  and  wild  meaningless  scrolls  and  curled 
shields,  and  other  such  fancies,  became  principal  in  its  subjects,  its 
doom  was  sealed,  and  ^\ith  it  that  of  the  architecture  of  the  world. 

XXXV.  III.  Our  final  inquiry  was  to  be  into  the  use  of  color  as 
associated  with  architectural  ornament. 

I  do  not  feel  able  to  speak  with  any  confidence  respecting  the 
touching  of  sculpture  w,ith  color.  I  would  only  note  one  point,  that 
sculpture  is  the  representation  of  an  idea,  while  architecture  is  itself 
a  real  thing.  The  idea  may,  as  I  think,  be  left  colorless,  and  colored 
by  the  beholder's  mind  :  but  a  reality  ought  to  have  reality  in  all  its 
attributes  :  its  color  should  be  as  fixed  as  its  form.  I  cannot,  there- 
fore, consider  architecture  as  in  any  ^vise  perfect  without  color. 
Farther,  as  I  have  above  noticed,  I  think  the  colors  of  architecture 
should  be  those  of  natural  stones  ;  partly  because  more  durable,  but 
also  because  more  perfect  and  graceful.  For  to  conquer  the  harsh- 
ness and  deadness  of  tones  laid  upon  stone  or  on  gesso,  needs  the 
management  and  discretion  of  a  true  painter ;  and  on  this  co-opera- 
tion we  must  not  calculate  in  laying  down  rules  for  general  practice. 
If  Tintoret  or  Giorgione  are  at  hand,  and  ask  us  for  a  wall  to  paint, 
we  will  alter  our  whole  design  for  their  sake,  and  become  their  ser- 
vants ;  but  we  must,  as  architects,  expect  the  aid  of  the  coonmon 
workman  only ;  and  the  laying  of  color  by  a  mechanical  hand,  and 
its  toning  under  a  vulgar  eye,  are  for  more  offensive  than  rudeness 
in  cutting  the  stone.  The  latter  is  imperfection  only ;  the  former 
deadness  or  discordance.  At  the  best,  such  color  is  so  inferior  to  the 
lovely  and  mellow  hues  of  the  natural  stone,  that  it  is  wise  to  sacri- 
fice some  of  the  intricacy  of  design,  if  by  so  doing  we  may  employ 
the  nobler  material.  And  if,  as  we  looked  to  Nature  for  instruction 
respecting  form,  we  look  to  her  also  to  learn  the  management  of 
color,  we  shall,  perhaps,  find  that  this  sacrifice  of  intricacy  is  for  other 
causes  expedient. 

XXXVI.  Fii-st,  then,  I  think  tliat  in  making  this  reference  we  are 
to  conailer  our  building  as  a  kind  of  organized  creature;  in  coloring 
■which  we  must  look  to  the  single  and  separately  organized  creatures 
of  Nature,  not  to  her  landscape  combinations.  Our  building,  if  it  ia 
well  composed,  is  one  tiling,  and  is  to  be  colored  as  Nature  would 


114  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

color  ono  thing — a  shell,  a  flower,  or  an  annual ;  not  as  she  colon 
groups  of  tilings. 

And  the  first  broad  conokision  we  shall  deduce  from  obs'-rvance  of 
natural  color  in  such  cases  ^\-ill  be,  that  it  never  follows  form,  but  is 
arranged  on  an  entirely  separate  system.  ^Vhat  mysterious  connec- 
tion there  may  be  between  the  shape  of  the  spots  on  an  animal's 
skin  and  its  anatomical  system,  I  do  not  know,  nor  even  if  such  a 
connection  has  in  any  wise  been  traced :  but  to  the  eye  the  systems 
are  entirely  separate,  and  in  many  cases  that  of  color  is  accidentally 
variable.  The  stripes  of  a  zebra  do  not  follow  the  hnes  of  its  body 
or  hmbs,  still  less  the  spots  of  a  leopard.  In  the  plumage  of  birds, 
each  feather  bears  a  part  of  the  pattern  which  is  arbitrarily  carried 
over  the  body,  having  indeed  certain  graceful  harmonies  with  the 
form,  diminishing  or  enlarging  in  directions  which  sometimes  follow, 
but  also  not  unfrequently  oppose,  the  directions  of  its  muscular  hnes. 
AVhatever  harmonies  there  may  be,  are  distinctly  like  those  of  two 
separate  musical  parts,  coinciding  here  and  there  only — never  dis- 
cordant, but  essentially  different.  I  hold  tliis,  then,  for  the  first  great 
principle  of  architectural  color.  Let  it  be  visibly  independent  of 
form.  Never  paint  a  column  with  vertical  lines,  but  always  cross 
it.'^  Never  give  separate  mouldings  separate  colors  (I  know  this  is 
heresy,  but  I  never  shrink  from  any  conclusions,  however  contrary  to 
human  authority,  to  which  I  am  led  by  observance  of  natural  prin- 
ciples) ;  and  in  sculptured  ornaments  I  do  not  paint  the  leaves  or 
figures  (I  cannot  help  the  Elgin  frieze)  of  one  color  and  their  ground 
of  another,  but  vary  both  the  ground  and  the  figures  with  the  same 
harmony.  Notice  how  Nature  does  it  in  a  variegated  flower ;  not 
one  leaf  red  and  another  white,  but  a  point  of  red  and  a  zone  of 
white,  or  whatever  it  may  be,  to  each.  In  certain  places  you  may 
run  your  two  systems  closer,  and  here  and  there  let  them  be  parallel 
for  a  note  or  two,  but  see  that  the  colors  and  the  forms  coincide  only 
as  two  orders  of  mouldings  do ;  the  same  for  an  instant,  but  each 
holding  its  own  couree.  So  single  members  may  sometimes  have 
sinMe  colors  :  as  a  bird's  head  is  sometimes  of  one  color  and  its 
shoulders  another,  you  may  make  your  capital  of  one  color  and  your 
shaft  another ;  but  in  general  the  best  place  for  color  is  on  broad  sur- 
faces, not  on  the  points  of  interest  in  form.  An  animal  is  mottled 
on  its  breast  and  back,  rarely  on  its  paws  or  about  its  eyes  ;  so  put 
your  variegation  boldly  on  the  flat  wall  and  broad  shaft,  but  be  shy 


THB    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY,  115 

of  It  in  the  capital  and  moulding ;  in  all  cases  it  is  a  safe  rule  to  sim- 
plify color  when  fonii  is  ncli,  and  vice  versa ;  and  I  think  it  would 
be  Will  in  general  to  carve  all  capitals  and  gracefid  ornaments  in 
white  marble,  and  so  leave  them. 

XXXVII.  Independence  then  being  first  secured,  what  kind  of 
limiting  outlines  shall  we  adopt  for  the  system  of  color  itself  ? 

I  am  quite  sure  that  any  person  familiar  with  natural  objects  will 
never  be  surprised  at  any  appearance  of  care  or  finish  in  them. 
That  is  the  condition  of  the  universe.  But  there  is  cause  both  for 
surprise  and  inquiry  whenever  we  see  anything  hke  carelessness  or 
incompletion  :  that  is  not  a  common  condition ;  it  must  be  one 
appointed  for  some  singTilar  purpose.  I  believe  that  such  surprise 
will  be  forcibly  felt  by  any  one  who,  after  studying  carefully  the 
lines  of  some  variegated  organic  form,  will  set  himself  to  copy  with 
similar  diligence  those  of  its  coloi*s.  The  boundaries  of  the  forms 
lie  will  assuredly,  whatever  the  object,  have  found  drawn  with  a 
delicacy  and  precision  which  no  human  hand  can  follow.  Those  of 
its  colors  he  will  find  in  many  cases,  though  governed  always  by  a 
certain  rude  symmetry,  yet  irregular,  blotched,  imperfect,  liable  to 
all  kinds  of  accidents  and  awkwardnesses.  Look  at  the  tracery  of  the 
lines  on  a  camp  shell,  and  see  how  oddly  and  awkwardly  its  tents 
are  pitched.  It  is  not  indeed  always  so  :  there  is  occasionally,  as  in 
the  eye  of  the  peacock's  plume,  an  apparent  pi-ecision,  but  still  a 
precision  far  inferior  to  that  of  the  drawing  of  the  filaments  which 
bear  that  lovely  stain  ;  and  in  the  plurality  of  cases  a  degree  of 
looseness  and  variation,  and,  still  more  singularly,  of  harshness  and 
violence  in  arrangement,  is  admitted  in  color  which  would  be 
monstrous  in  form.  Observe  the  difference  in  the  precision  of  a 
fish's  scales  and  of  the  spots  on  them. 

XXXVIII.  N^ow,  why  it  should  be  that  color  is  best  seen  under 
these  circumstances  I  will .  not  here  endeavor  to  determine ;  nor 
whether  the  lesson  we  are  to  learn  from  it  be  that  it  is  God's  will  that 
all  manner  of  deliofhts  should  never  be  combined  in  one  thinir.  But 
the  foct  is  certain,  that  color  is  always  by  Him  arranged  in  these 
simple  or  rude  forms,  and  as  certain  that,  therefore,  it  must  be  best 
seen  in  them,  and  that  we  shall  never  mend  by  refining  its  arrange- 
ments. Experience  teaches  us  the  same  thing.  Infinite  nonsense 
has  been  written  about  the  union  of  perfect  color  with  perfect  form. 
They  never  will,  never  can  be   united.     Color,  to   be   perfect,  7fiusi 


116  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

have  a  soft  outline  or  a  simple  one  :  it  cannot  have  a  refined  one  ; 
and  you  will  never  produce  a  good  painted  window  with  good 
figure-drawing  in  it.  You  will  lose  perfection  of  color  as  you  give 
perfection  of  line.  Try  to  put  in  order  and  form  the  colors  of  a 
piece  of  opal. 

XXXIX.  I  conclude,  then,  that  all  arrangements  of  color,  for  its 
own  sake,  in  graceful  forms,  are  barbarous ;  and  that,  to  paint  a 
color  pattern  with  the  lovely  lines  of  a  Greek  leaf  moulding,  is  an 
utterly  savage  procedure.  I  cannot  find  anything  in  natural  color 
like  tliis  :  it  is  not  in  the  bond.  I  find  it  in  all  natural  form — never 
in  natural  color.  If,  then,  our  architectural  color  is  to  be  beautiful 
as  its  form  was,  by  being  imitative,  we  are  limited  to  these  condi- 
tions— to  simple  masses  of  it,  to  zones,  as  in  the  rainbow  and  the 
zebra ;  cloudings  and  flamings,  as  in  marble  shells  and  plumage,  or 
spots  of  various  shapes  and  dimensions.  All  these  conditions  are 
susceptible  of  various  degrees  of  sharpness  and  delicacy,  and  of  com- 
plication in  arrangement.  The  zone  may  become  a  delicate  line, 
and  arrange  itself  in  chequers  and  zig-zags.  The  flaming  may  be 
more  or  less  defined,  as  on  a  tulip  leaf,  and  may  at  last  be  repre- 
sented by  a  triangle  of  color,  and  arrange  itself  in  stars  or  other 
shapes ;  the  spot  may  be  also  graduated  into  a  stain,  or  defined  into 
a  square  or  circle.  The  most  exquisite  harmonies  may  be  composed 
of  these  simple  elements :  some  soft  and  full,  of  flushed  and  melting 
spaces  of  color;  others  piquant  and  sparkling,  or  deep  and  rich, 
formed  of  close  groups  of  the  fiery  fragments  :  perfect  and  lovely 
proportion  may  be  exhibited  in  the  relation  of  their  quantities, 
infinite  invention  in  their  disposition :  but,  in  all  cases,  their  shape 
W'ill  be  eft'ective  only  as  it  determines  tlieii"  quantity,  and  regulates 
their  operation  on  each  other ;  points  or  edges  of  one  being 
introduced  between  breadths  of  others,  and  so  on.  Triangular  and 
barred  forms  are  therefore  convenient,  or  others  the  simplest  pos- 
sible ;  leaving  the  pleasure  of  the  spectator  to  be  taken  in  the  color, 
and  in  that  only.  Curved  outlines,  especially  if  refined,  deaden  the 
color,  and  confuse  the  mind.  Even  in  figure  painting  the  gi-eatest 
colorists  have  either  melted  their  outline  aw^ay,  as  often  Correggio 
and  Rubens ;  or  purposely  made  their  masses  of  ungainly  shape,  as 
Titian ;  or  placed  their  brightest  hues  in  costume,  where  they  could 
get  quaint  patterns,  as  Veronese,  and  especially  Angehco,  with 
whom,  however,  the  absolute  \drtue  of  color  is  secondary  to  grace  of 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  117 

line.  Ilence,  he  never  uses  the  blended  hues  of  Corregjjpo,  hke  those 
on  the  wing  of  the  httle  Cupid,  in  the  "  Venus  and  Mercur}',"  but 
always  the  severest  type — the  peacock  plume.  Any  of  these  men 
would  have  looked  with  infinite  disgust  upon  the  leafage  and  scroll- 
work which  form  the  ground  of  color  in  our  modern  painted  windows, 
and  yet  all  whom  I  have  named  were  much  infected  with  the  love 
of  renaissance  designs.  We  must  also  allow  for  the  fi-eedom  of  the 
painicrs  subject,  and  looseness  of  his  associated  hnes;  a  pattern 
being  severe  in  a  picture,  which  is  over  luxurious  upon  a  building. 
I  believe,  therefore,  that  it  is  impossible  to  be  over  quaint  or 
angular  in  architectural  coloring ;  and  thus  many  dispositions  which 
I  have  had  occasion  to  reprobate  in  form,  are,  in  color,  the  best  that 
can  be  invented.  I  have  always,  for  instance,  spoken  with  contempt 
of  the  Tudor  style,  for  this  reason,  that,  having  surrendered  all 
pretence  to  spaciousness  and  breadth, — having  divided  its  surfaces 
by  an  infinite  number  of  lines,  it  yet  sacrifices  the  only  characters 
which  can  make  lines  beautiful ;  sacrifices  all  the  variety  and  grace 
which  long  atoned  for  the  caprice  of  the  Flamboyant,  and  adopts,  for 
its  leading  feature,  an  entanglement  of  cross  bars  and  verticals, 
showing  about  as  much  invention  or  skill  of  design  as  the  reticula- 
tion of  the  bricklayer's  sieve.  Yet  this  v^ry  reticulation  would  in 
color  be  highly  beautiful ;  and  all  the  heraldry,  and  other  features 
which,  in  form,  are  monstrous,  may  be  delightful  as  themes  of  color 
(so  long  as  there  are  no  fluttering  or  over-twisted  lines  in  them) ; 
and  this  observe,  because,  when  colored,  they  take  the  place  of  a 
mere  pattern,  and  the  resemblance  to  nature,  which  could  not  be 
found  in  their  sculptured  forms,  is  found  in  their  piquant  variega- 
tion of  other  surfaces.  There  is  a  beautiful  and  bright  bit  of  wall 
painting  behind  the  Duomo  of  Verona,  composed  of  coats  of  arms, 
whose  bearings  are  balls  of  gold  set  in  bars  of  green  (altered  blue  ?) 
and  white,  with  cardinal's  hats  in  alternate  squares.  This  is  of 
course,  however,  fit  only  for  domestic  work.  The  front  of  the  Doge's 
palace  at  Venice  is  the  purest  and  most  chaste  model  that  I  can 
name  (but  one)  of  the  fit  apphcation  of  color  to  public  buildings. 
The  sculj)ture  and  mouldings  are  all  white ;  but  the  wall  surface  is 
chequered  witli  marble  blocks  of  pale  rose,  the  chequers  being  in  no 
wise  harmonized,  or  fitted  to  the  forms  of  the  windows ;  but  looking 
as  if  the  surface  had  been  completed  first,  and  the  windows  cut  out 
of  it.     In  Plate  XII.  fig.  2.  the  reader  will  see  two  of  the  patterns 


118  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

used  in  green  and  white,  on  the  columns  of  San  Michele  of  Lucca  • 
every  column  hadng  a  difterent  design.  Both  are  beautiful,  but  the 
upper  one  certainly  the  best.  Yet  in  sculpture  its  lines  would  have 
been  perfectly  barbarous,  and  those  even  of  the  lower  not  enough 
refined. 

XL.  Restraining  ourselves,  therefore,  to  the  use  of  such  simple 
patterns,  so  for  forth  as  our  color  is  subordinate  either  to  archi- 
tectural structure,  or  sculptural  form,  we  have  yet  one  more  manner 
of  ornamentation  to  add  to  our  general  means  of  effect,  monochrome 
design,  the  intermediate  condition  between  coloring  and  car\ing. 
The  relations  of  the  entire  system  of  architectural  decoration  may 
then  be  thus  expressed. 

1.  Organic  form  dominant.     True,  independent  sculpture,  and  alto- 

relievo  ;  rich  capitals,  and  mouldings ;  to  be  elaborate  in 
completion  of  form,  not  abstract,  and  either  to  be  left  in  pure 
white  marble,  or  most  cautiously  touched  with  color  in  points 
and  borders  only,  in  a  system  not  concurrent  with  their  forms. 

2.  Organic  form  sub-dominant.     Basso-relievo  or  intagho.     To  be 

more  abstract  in  proportion  to  the  reduction  of  depth ;  to  be 
also  more  rigid  and  simple  in  contour ;  to  be  touched  with 
color  more  boldly  and  in  an  increased  degi'ee,  exactly  in  pro- 
portion to  the  reduced  depth  and  fulness  of  form,  but  still  in  a 
system  non-concurrent  with  their  forms. 

3.  Oro-anic  fonn  abstracted    to    outhne.     Monochrom    desiofn,  still 

farther  reduced  to  simplicity  of  contour,  and  therefore  admit- 
ting for  the  first  time  the  color  to  be  concurrent  with  its 
outlines ;  that  is  to  say,  as  its  name  imports,  the  entire  figure  to 
be  detached  in  one  color  from  a  ground  of  another. 

4.  Organic  forms  entirely  lost.     Geometrical  patterns  or  variable 

cloudings  in  the  most  vi\id  color. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  this  scale,  ascending  from  the  color 
pattern,  I  would  place  the  various  forms  of  painting  which  may  be 
associated  with  architectui'e  :  primarily,  and  as  most  fit  for  sucu 
purpose,  the  mosaic,  highly  abstract  in  treatment,  and  introducing 
brilliant  color  in  masses ;  the  Madonna  of  Torcello  being,  as  I  think, 
the  noblest  type  of  the  manner,  and  the  Baptistery  of  Parma  the 
richest :  next,  the  purely  decorative  fresco,  like  that  of  the  Arena 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  119 

Chapel ;  finally,  the  fresco  becoming  principal,  as  in  the  Vatican  and 
Sistine.  iJut  I  cannot,  \\ith  any  safety,  follow  the  principles  of 
abstraction  in  this  pictorial  ornament ;  since  the  noblest  examples  of 
it  appear  to  me  to  owe  their  architectural  ajiplicability  to  their 
archaic  manner ;  and  I  think  that  the  abstraction  and  admirable 
simplicity  which  render  them  fit  media  of  the  most  splendid  color- 
ing, cannot  be  recovered  by  a  voluntary  condescension.  The 
Byzantines  themselves  would  not,  I  think,  if  they  could  have  dra\vn 
the  figure  better,  have  used  it  for  a  color  decoration  ;  and  that  use, 
as  pecuhar  to  a  condition  of  childhood,  however  noble  and  full  of 
promise,  cannot  be  included  among  those  modes  of  adornment 
which  are  now  legitimate  or  even  possible.  There  is  a  difficulty  in 
the  management  of  the  painted  window  for  the  same  reason,  which 
has  not  yet  been  met,  and  we  must  conquer  that  first,  before  we  can 
venture  to  consider  the  wall  as  a  painted  window  on  a  large  scale. 
Pictorial  subject,  without  such  abstraction,  becomes  necessarily 
principal,  or,  at  all  events,  ceases  to  be  the  architect's  concern  ;  its 
plan  must  be  left  to  the  painter  after  the  completion  of  the 
building,  as  in  the  works  of  Veronese  and  Giorgione  on  the  palaces 
of  Venice. 

XLI.  Pure  architectural  decoration,  then,  may  be  considered  as 
limited  to  the  four  kinds  above  specified;  of  which  each  glides 
almost  imperceptibly  into  the  other.  Thus,  the  Elgin  frieze  is  a 
monochrom  in  a  state  of  transition  to  sculpture,  retaining,  as  I  think, 
the  half-cast  skin  too  long.  Of  pure  monochrom,  I  have  given  an 
example  in  Plate  VI.,  from  the  noble  front  of  St.  Michele  of  Lucca. 
It  contains  forty  such  arches,  all  covered  with  equally  elaborate 
ornaments,  entirely  drawn  by  cutting  out  their  ground  to  about  the 
de])th  of  an  inch  in  the  flat  white  marble,  and  filling  the  spaces 
v.'ith  pieces  of  green  serpentine  ;  a  most  elaborate  mode  of  sculpture, 
requiring  excessive  care  and  precision  in  the  fitting  of  the  edges,  and 
of  course  double  work,  the  same  line  needing  to  be  cut  both  in  the 
marble  and  serpentine.  The  excessive  sinqllcity  of  the  forms  will 
be  at  once  ])erceived  ;  the  eyes  of  the  figures  of  animals,  for  instance, 
being  indicated  only  by  a  round  dot,  formed  by  a  little  inlet  circle 
of  serpentine,  about  half  an  inch  on  er :  but,  though  simple,  they 
admit  often  much  grace  of  cur\ature,  j^  in  the  neck  of  the  bird 
seen  above  the  right  hand  pillar.'*  The  pieces  of  serpentine  have 
fallen  out  in  many  places,  ginng  the  black  shadows,  as  seen  under 


120  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

the  hoi-seman's  arm  and  bird's  neck,  and  in  tlie  semi-circular  line 
round  the  arch,  once  filled  ^^ith  some  pattern.  It  would  have 
illustrated  my  point  better  to  have  restored  the  lost  portions,  but  I 
always  draw  a  thing  exactly  as  it  is,  hating  restoration  of  any  kind ; 
and  I  would  especially  direct  the  reader's  attention  to  the  comple- 
tion of  the  forms  in  the  sculj^tured  ornament  of  the  marble  cornices, 
as  opposed  to  the  abstraction  of  the  monochrom  figures,  of  the  ball 
and  cross  patterns  between  the  arches,  and  of  the  triangular  orna- 
ment round  the  arch  on  the  left. 

XLII.  I  have  an  intense  love  for  these  monochrom  figures,  owing 
to  their  wonderful  hfe  and  spirit  in  all  the  works  on  which  I  have 
found  them  ;  nevertheless,  I  believe  that  the  excessive  degree  of 
abstraction  which  they  imply  necessitates  our  placing  them  in  the 
rank  of  a  progressive  or  imperfect  art,  and  that  a  perfect  building 
should  rather  be  composed  of  the  highest  sculpture  (organic  form 
dominant  and  sub-dominant),  associated  with  pattern  colors  on  the 
flat  or  broad  surfaces.  And  we  find,  in  fact,  that  the  cathedral  of 
Pisa,  which  is  a  higher  t)^e  than  that  of  Lucca,  exactly  follows  this 
condition,  the  color  being  put  in  geometrical  patterns  on  its  surfaces, 
and  animal  forms  and  lovely  leafage  used  in  the  sculptured  cornices 
and  pillars.  And  I  think  that  the  grace  of  the  carved  forms  is  best 
seen  when  it  is  thus  boldly  opposed  to  severe  traceries  of  color, 
while  the  color  itself  is,  as  we  have  seen,  always  most  piquant  when 
it  is  put  into  sharp  angular  arrangements.  Thus  the  sculpture  is 
approved  and  set  off  by  the  color,  and  the  color  seen  to  the  best 
advantage  in  its  opposition  both  to  the  whiteness  and  the  grace  of 
the  carved  marble. 

XLIII.  In  the  course  of  this  and  the  preceding  chaptei-s,  I  have 
now  separately  enumerated  most  of  the  conditions  of  Power  and 
Beauty,  which  in  the  outset  I  stated  to  be  the  grounds  of  the 
deepest  impressions  with  which  architecture  could  affect  the  human 
mind  ;  but  I  would  ask  permission  to  recapitulate  them  in  order  to 
see  if  there  be  any  building  which  I  may  offer  as  an  example  of  the 
unison,  in  such  manner  as  is  possible,  of  them  all.  Glancing  back, 
then,  to  the  beginning  of  the  third  chapter,  and  introducing  in  their 
place  the  conditions  incidentally  determined  in  the  two  previous 
sections,  we  shall  have  the  following  list  of  noble  characters  : 

Considerable  size,  exhibited  by  simple  terminal  lines  (Chap.  III. 
(§  6).     Projection  towards  the  top  (§  7).     Breadth  of  flat  surface 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  121 

(§  8).  Square  compartments  of  that  surface  (§  9).  VaricMl  and 
visible  masonry  (§  11).  Vigorous  depth  of  shadow  (§  13),  exhibited 
especially  by  pierced  traceries  (§  18).  Varied  proportion  in  ascent 
(Chap.  IV.  §  28).  Lateral  symmetry  (§  28).  Scul[)ture  most 
dehcate  at  the  base  (Chap.  I.  §  12).  Enriched  quantity  of  orna- 
ment at  the  top  (§  13).  Sculpture  abstract  in  inferior  ornaments 
and  mouldings  (Chap.  IV.  §  31),  complete  in  animal  forms  (§  33). 
Both  to  be  executed  in  white  marble  (§  40).  Vivid  color  introduced 
in  flat  geometrical  patterns  (§  39),  and  obtained  by  the  use  of 
naturally  colored  stone  (§  35). 

These  characteristics  occur  more  or  less  in  different  buildings, 
some  in  one  and  some  in  another.  But  all  together,  and  all  in  their 
highest  possible  relative  degrees,  they  exist,  as  far  as  I  know,  only 
in  one  building  in  the  world,  the  Campanile  of  Giotto  at  Florence. 
The  drawing  of  the  tracery  of  its  upper  story,  which  heads  this 
chapter,  rude  as  it  is,  will  nevertheless  give  the  reader  some  better 
conception  of  that  tower's  magnificence  than  the  thin  outlines  in 
which  it  is  usually  portrayed.  In  its  fii-st  appeal  to  the  stranger's 
eye  there  is  something  unpleasing  ;  a  mingling,  as  it  seems  to  him, 
of  over  severity  with  over  minuteness.  But  let  him  give  it  time,  as 
he  should  to  all  other  consummate  art.  I  remember  well  how, 
when  a  boy,  I  used  to  despise  that  Campanile,  and  think  it  meanly 
smooth  and  finished.  But  I  have  since  hved  beside  it  many  a  day, 
and  looked  out  upon  it  from  my  windows  by  sunlight  and  moonlight, 
and  I  shall  not  soon  forget  how  profound  and  gloomy  appeared  to 
me  the  savageness  of  the  Northern  Gothic,  when  I  afterwards  stood, 
for  the  first  time,  beneath  the  front  of  Salisbury.  The  contriv<t  is 
indeed  strange,  if  it  could  be  quickly  felt,  between  the  rising  of  those 
grey  walls  out  of  their  quiet  swarded  space,  like  dark  and  barren 
rocks  out  of  a  green  lake,  with  their  rude,  mouldering,  rough-grained 
shafts,  and  triple  lights,  without  tracery  or  other  ornament  than  the 
martins'  nests  in  the  height  of  them,  and  that  bright,  smooth,  sunny 
surface  of  glowing  jasper,  those  spiral  shafts  and  fairy  traceries,  so 
white,  so  faint,  so  crystaUine,  that  their  shght  shapes  are  hardly  traced 
in  darkness  on  the  pallor  of  the  Eastern  sky,  that  serene  height  of 
mountain  alabaster,  colored  like  a  morning  cloud,  and  cluised  like  a 
sea  shell.  x\nd  if  this  be,  as  I  beheve  it,  the  model  and  mirror  of 
perfect  architecture,  is  there  not  something  to  be  learned  by  looking 
back  to  the  early  life  of  him  who  raised  it  ?     I  said  that  the  Power 


122  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

of  liuraan  mind  had  its  growth  in  the  Wilderness  ;  much  more  must 
the  love  and  the  conception  of  that  beauty,  whose  every  line  and 
hue  we  have  seen  to  be,  at  the  best,  a  faded  image  of  God's  daily 
work,  and  an  arrested  ray  of  some  star  of  creation,  be  given  chiefly 
in  the  places  which  He  has  gladdened  by  planting  there  the  fir 
tree  and  the  pine.  Not  \vithin  the  walls  of  Florence,  but  among  the 
far  away  fields  of  her  hlies,  was  the  child  trained  who  was  to  raise 
that  headstone  of  Beauty  above  the  towers  of  watch  and  war. 
Remember  all  that  he  became ;  count  the  sacred  thouglits  "svith 
wliich  he  filled  the  heart  of  Italy  ;  ask  those  who  followed  Irim  what 
they  learned  at  his  feet ;  and  when  you  have  numbered  liis  laboi-s, 
and  received  their  testimony,  if  it  seem  to  you  that  God  load  verily 
poured  out  upon  this  His  servant  no  common  nor  restrained  portion 
of  His  Spirit,  and  that  he  was  indeed  a  king  among  the  diildren  of 
men,  remember  also  that  the  legend  upon  his  crown  wrv  that  of 
David's  : — "  I  took  thee  from  the  sheepcote,  and  from  foli  .n\mg  the 
sheep." 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE  LAMP  OF  LIFE. 

k 

I.  Among  the  countless  analogies  by  "whicli  the  nature  and 
relations  of  the  human  soul  are  illustrated  in  the  materijil  creation, 
none  are  more  striking  than  the  impressions  inseparably  connected 
with  the  active  and  dormant  stat4:'s  of  matter.  I  have  elsewhere 
endeavored  to  show,  that  no  inconsiderable  part  of  the  essential 
charactei-s  of  Beauty  depended  on  the  expression  of  ^^tal  energ}-  in 
organic  tilings,  or  on  the  subjection  to  such  energy,  of  things 
naturally  passive  and  powerless.  I  need  not  here  repeat,  of  what 
was  then  advanced,  more  than  the  statement  which  I  believe  will 
meet  with  general  acceptance,  that  things  in  other  respects  alike,  as 
in  their  substance,  or  uses,  or  outward  forms,  are  noble  or  ignoble  in 
proportion  to  the  fulness  of  the  life  which  either  they  themselves 
enjoy,  or  of  whose  action  they  bear  the  e\idence,  as  sea  sands  are 
made  beautiful  by  their  bearing  the  seal  of  the  motion  of  the  waters. 
And  this  is  especially  true  of  all  objects  which  bear  upon  them  the 
impress  of  the  highest  order  of  creative  life,  that  is  to  say,  of  the 
mind  of  man :  they  become  noble  or  ignoble  in  proportion  to  the 
amount  of  the  energy  of  that  mind  whicli  has  visibly  been  employed 
upon  them.  But  most  peculiarly  and  imperatively  does  the  rule 
hold  with  respect  to  the  creations  of  Architecture,  which  being 
properly  capable  of  no  other  life  than  this,  and  being  not  essentially 
composed  of  things  pleasant  in  themselves, — as  music  of  sweet 
sounds,  or  painting  of  fair  coloi-s,  but  of  inert  substance, — depend, 
for  their  dignity  and  pleasurableness  in  the  utmost  degree,  upon  the 
vivid  expression  of  the  intellectual  life  which  has  been  concerned  in 
their  production. 

II.  Now  in  all  other  kind  of  energies  except  that  of  man's  mind, 
there  is  no  question  as  to  what  is  life,  and  what  is  not.  Vital 
sensibility,  whether  vegetable  or  animal,  may,  indeed,  be  reduced  to 
so  gi-eat  feebleness,  as  to  render  its  existence  a  matter  of  question, 


124  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

but  when  it  is  evident  at  all,  it  is  evident  as  sucli :  there  is  no  mistak- 
ing any  imitation  or  pretence  of  it  for  the  hfe  itself;  no  mechanism 
nor  galvanism  can  take  its  place ;  nor  is  any  resemblance  of  it  so 
striking  as  to  involve  even  hesitation  in  the  judgment;  although 
many  occur  which  the  human  imagination  takes  pleasure  in  exalting, 
without  for  an  instant  losing  sight  of  the  real  nature  of  the  dead 
things  it  animates  ;  but  rejoicing  rather  in  its  own  excessive  hfe,  which 
puts  gestm-e  into  clouds,  and  joy  into  waves,  and  voices  into  rocks. 

III.  But  when  we  begin  to  be  concerned  Avith  the  energies  of 
man,  we  find  ourselves  instantly  dealing  A\'ith  a  double  creature. 
Most  part. of  his  being  seems  to  have  a  fictitious  counterpart,  which 
it  is  at  his  peril  if  he  do  not  cast  ofl:'  and  deny.  Thus  he  has  a  true 
and  false  (otherwise  called  a  living  and  dead,  or  a  feigned  or 
unfeigned)  faith.  He  has  a  true  and  a  false  hope,  a  true  and  a 
false  charity,  and,  finally,  a  true  and  a  false  hfe.  BQs  true  life  is  hke 
that  of  lower  organic  being-s,  the  independent  force  by  which  he 
moulds  and  governs  external  things ;  it  is  a  force  of  assimilation 
which  converts  everything  around  him  into  food,  or  into  instrimaents ; 
and  which,  however  humbly  or  obediently  it  may  hsten  to  or  follow 
the  guidance  of  superior  intelligence,  never  forfeits  its  own  authority 
as  a  judging  principle,  as  a  will  capable  either  of  obeying  or  rebelling. 
His  false  hfe  is,  indeed,  but  one  of  the  conditions  of  death  or  stupor, 
but  it  acts,  even  when  it  cannot  be  said  to  animate,  and  is  not  always 
easily  known  fi-om  the  true.  It  is  that  life  of  custom  and  accident 
in  which  many  of  us  pass  much  of  our  time  in  the  world ;  that  life 
in  which  we  do  what  we  have  not  purposed,  and  speak  what  we  do 
not  mean,  and  assent  to  what  we  do  not  understand  ;  that  life  which 
is  overlaid  by  the  weight  of  things  external  to  it,  and  is  moulded  by 
them,  instead  of  assimilating  them ;  that,  which  instead  of  growing 
and  blossoming  under  any  wholesome  dew,  is  crystallised  over  ^vith 
it,  as  with  hoar  frost,  and  becomes  to  the  true  life  what  an 
arborescence  is  to  a  tree,  a  candied  agglomeration  of  thoughts  and 
habits  foreign  to  it,  brittle,  obstinate,  and  icy,  which  can  neither  bend 
Qor  grow,  but  must  be  crushed  and  broken  to  bits,  if  it  stand  in  our 
way.  All  men  are  liable  to  be  in  some  degree  frost-bitten  in  this 
sort ;  all  are  partly  encumbered  and  crusted  over  with  idle  matter ; 
only,  if  they  have  real  life  in  them,  they  are  alwaj^s  breaking  this 
bark  away  in  noble  rents,  until  it  becomes,  like  the  black  strips  upon 
the  birch  tree,  only  a  witness  of  their  own  inward  strength     But, 


THE.  LAMP    OF    LIFE.  126 

with  all  the  efforts  that  the  best  men  make,  much  of  then  being 
passes  in  a  kind  of  dream,  in  which  they  ind(jcd  move,  and  play 
their  parts  sufficiently,  to  the  eyes  of  their  f 'llow-dreamei-s,  but  have 
no  clear  consciousness  of  what  is  around  them,  or  witliin  them; 
bhnd  to  the  one,  insensible  to  the  other,  vwJpo/.  I  would  not  press 
the  definition  into  its  darker  application  to  the  dull  heart  and  heavy 
ear  ;  I  have  to  do  with  it  only  as  it  refers  to  the  too  frequent  condition 
of  natural  existence,  whether  of  nations  or  individuals,  settling 
commonly  upon  them  in  proportion  to  their  age.  Tlie  hfe  of  a 
nation  is  usually,  like  the  flow  of  a  lava  stream,  first  bright  and 
fierce,  then  languid  and  covered,  at  last  advancing  only  by  the 
tumbhng  over  and  over  of  its  frozen  blocks.  And  that  last  condition 
is  a  sad  one  to  look  upon.  All  the  steps  are  marked  most  clearly 
in  the  arts,  and  in  Architecture  more  than  in  any  other  ;  for  it,  being 
especially  dependent,  as  we  have  just  said,  on  the  warmth  of  the 
true  hfe,  is  also  peculiarly  sensible  of  the  hemlock  cold  of  the  false  ; 
and  I  do  not  know  anything  more  oppressive,  when  the  mind  is  once 
awakened  to  its  characteristics,  than  the  a'=;pect  of  a  dead  architecture. 
The  feebleness  of  cliildhood  is  full  of  promise  and  of  interest, — the 
struggle  of  imperfect  knowledge  full  of  energy  and  continuity, — but 
to  see  impotence  and  rigidity  settling  upon  the  form  of  the  developed 
man ;  to  see  the  types  which  once  had  the  die  of  thouu^ht  struck 
fresh  upon  them,  worn  flat  by  over  use  ;  to  see  the  shell  of  the 
living  creature  in  its  adult  form,  when  its  colors  are  foded,  and  its 
inhabitant  perished, — this  is  a  sight  more  humiliating,  more 
melancholy,  than  the  vanishing  of  all  knowledge,  and  the  return 
to  confessed  and  helpless  infancy. 

Nay,  it  is  to  be  wished  that  such  return  were  always  possible. 
Tliere  would  be  hope  if  we  could  cliange  palsy  into  puerility  ;  but  I 
know  not  how  far  we  can  become  children  again,  and  renew  our  lost 
hfe.  The  stirring  which  has  taken  place  in  our  architectural  aims 
and  interests  vvithin  these  few  yeai-s,  is  thought  by  many  to  be  full 
of  promise :  I  trust  it  is,  but  it  has  a  sickly  look  to  me.  I  cannot 
tell  whether  it  be  indeed  a  springing  of  seed  or  a  shaking  among 
bones ;  and  I  do  not  think  the  time  will  be  lost  which  I  ask  the 
reader  to  spend  in  the  inquiry,  how  far  all  that  we  have  hitherto 
ascertained  or  conjectured  to  be  the  best  in  princij^le,  may  bo 
formally  practised  without  the  spirit  or  the  viUihty  which  alone  could 
give  it  influence,  value,  or  delightfulness. 


126  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

IV.  Now,  in  the  first  place — and  this  is  rather  an  important 
point — it  is  no  sign  of  deadness  in  a  present  art  that  it  borrows  or 
imitates,  but  only  if  it  borrows  without  paying  interest,  or  if  it 
imitates  without  choice.  The  art  of  a  great  nation,  which  is 
developed  without  any  acquaintance  with  nobler  examples  than  its 
own  early  efforts  furnish,  exhibits  always  the  most  consistent  and 
comprehensible  growth,  and  perhaps  is  regarded  usually  as  pecu- 
liarly venerable  in  its  self-origination.  But  there  is  sometliing  to  my 
mind  more  majestic  yet  in  the  life  of  an  architecture  like  that  of  the 
Lombards,  rude  and  infantine  in  itself,  and  surrounded  by  fragments 
of  a  nobler  art  of  which  it  is  quick  in  admiration  and  ready  in  imita- 
tion, and  yet  so  strong  in  its  oym  new  instincts  that  it  re-constructs  and 
re-arranges  every  fragment  that  it  copies  or  borrows  into  harmony 
with  its  own  thoughts, — a  harmony  at  fii^st  disjointed  and  awkward, 
but  completed  in  the  end,  and  fused  into  perfect  organisation ;  all 
the  borrowed  elements  being  subordinated  to  its  own  primal, 
unchanged,  life.  I  do  not  know  any  sensation  more  exquisite  than 
the  discovering  of  the  endence  of  this  magnificent  struggle  into 
independent  existence ;  the  detection  of  the  borrowed  thoughts,  nay, 
the  finding  of  the  actual  blocks  and  stones  carved  by  other  hands 
and  in  other  ages,  wrought  into  the  new  walls,  with  a  new  expression 
and  purpose  given  to  them,  like  the  blocks  of  unsubdued  rocks  (to 
go  back  to  our  former  simile)  which  we  find  in  the  heart  of  the 
lava  current,  great  witnesses  to  the  power  which  has  fused  all  but 
those  calcined  fragments  into  the  mass  of  its  homogeneous  fire. 

V.  It  vnW  be  asked,  How  is  imitation  to  be  rendered  healthy  ard 
vita.  ?  Unhappily,  while  it  is  easy  to  enumerate  the  signs  of  hfe,  it 
is  impossible  to  define  or  to  communicate  hfe  ;  and  while  every 
intelligent  writer  on  Art  has  insisted  on  the  difference  between  the 
copying  found  in  an  advancing  or  recedent  period,  none  have  been 
able  to  communicate,  in  the  slightest  degree,  the  force  of  \'itality  to 
the  coppst  over  whom  they  might  have  influence.  Yet  it  is  at  least 
interesting,  if  not  profitable,  to  note  that  two  very  distinguishing 
characters  of  ^■ital  imitation  are,  its  Frankness  and  its  Audacity ;  its 
Frankness  is  especially  singular  ;  there  is  never  any  effort  to  conceal 
the  degree  of  the  som-ces  of  its  borrowing.  RatfaeUe  carries  oflf  a 
whole  figure  fi-om  iSIasaccio,  or  borrows  an  entire  composition  Irom 
Perugino,  with  as  much  tranquilhty  and  simphcity  of  innocence  as  a 
young  Spartan   pickpocket ;    and  tlie   architect  of  a   Romanesque 


THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  127 

basilica  gathered  his  columns  and  capitals  where  he  could  find  them, 
as  an  ant  picks  up  sticks.  There  is  at  least  a  presumption,  when  we 
find  this  fi-ank  acceptance,  that  there  is  a  sense  within  the  mind  of 
power  capable  of  transforming  and  renewing  whatever  it  adopts ; 
and  too  conscious,  too  exalted,  to  fear  the  accusation  of  plagiarism, 
— too  certain  that  it  can  prove,  and  has  proved,  its  independence,  to 
be  afraid  of  expressing  its  homage  to  what  it  admires  in  the  most 
open  and  indubitable  way  ;  and  the  necessary  consequence  of  this 
sense  of  power  is  the  other  sign  I  have  named — the  Audacity  of 
treatment  when  it  finds  treatment  necessary,  the  unhesitating  and 
sweeping  sacrifice  of  precedent  where  precedent  becomes  incon- 
venient. For  instance,  in  the  characteristic  forms  of  Italian 
Romanesque,  in  which  the  h)^)aethral  portion  of  the  heathen 
temple  was  replaced  by  the  towering  nave,  and  where,  in  consequence, 
the  pediment  of  the  west  front  became  di\ided  into  three  portions, 
of  which  the  central  one,  like  the  apex  of  a  ridge  of  sloping  strata 
lifted  by  a  sudden  fault,  was  broken  away  from  and  raised  above  the 
wings  ;  there  remained  at  the  extremities  of  the  aisles  two  triangular 
fragments  of  pediment,  which  could  not  now  be  filled  by  any  of 
the  modes  of  decoration  adapted  for  the  unbroken  space  ;  and  the 
difficulty  became  greater,  when  the  central  portion  of  the  front  was 
occupied  by  columnar  ranges,  which  could  not,  without  painful 
abruptness,  terminate  short  of  the  extremities  of  the  wings.  I  know 
not  what  expedient  would  have  been  adopted  by  architects  who  had 
much  respect  for  precedent,  under  such  circumstances,  but  it  certainly 
would  n^t  have  been  that  of  the  Pisan, — to  continue  the  range  of 
columns  jnto  the  pedimental  space,  shortening  them  to  its  extremity 
until  the  ^^iiaft  of  the  last  column  vanished  altogether,  and  tliere 
remained  only  its  capital  resting  in  the  angle  on  its  basic  pUnth.  I 
raise  no  q'lestion  at  present  whether  this  arrangement  be  gracefjl  or 
otherwise  •  I  allege  it  only  as  an  instance  of  boldness  almost  \vithout 
a  parall-l.  casting  aside  every  received  principle  that  stood  in  its 
way,  and  -truggling  through  every  discordance  and  difficulty  to  the 
fiilSIment  of  its  own  instincts. 

VI.  Frankness,  however,  is  in  itself  no  excuse  for  repetition,  nor 
Audrwity  tor  innovation,  when  the  one  is  indolent  and  the  other 
unwise.  'Nobler  and  surer  signs  of  vitality  must  be  sought, — signs 
independmt  alike  of  the  decorative  or  original  character  of  the  style, 
and  consl-int  in  every  style  that  is  determinedly  progressi/e. 


128  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

Of  these,  one  of  tlie  most  important  I  believe  to  be  a  certain 
neglect  or  contempt  of  refinement  in  execution,  or,  at  all  events,  a 
visible  subordination  of  execution  to  conception,  commonly  involun- 
tary, but  not  unfi-equently  intentional.  This  is  a  point,  however,  on 
which,  while  I  speak  confidently,  I  must  at  the  same  time  reservedly 
and  carefully,  as  there  would  otherwise  be  much  chance  of  my  being 
dangerously  misunderstood.  It  has  been  truly  observed  and  well 
stated  by  Lord  Lindsay,  that  the  best  designers  of  Italy  were  also 
the  most  careful  in  their  workmanship ;  and  that  the  stabihty  and 
finish  of  their  masonry,  mosaic,  or  other  work  whatsoever,  were 
always  perfect  in  proportion  to  the  apparent  improbabihty  of  the 
gi'eat  designers  condescending  to  the  care  of  details  among  us  so 
despised.  Not  only  do  I  fully  admit  and  re-assert  this  most 
important  fact,  but  I  would  insist  upon  perfect  and  most  dehcate 
finish  in  its  right  place,  as  a  characteristic  of  all  the  highest  schools 
of  architecture,  as  much  as  it  is  those  of  painting.  But  on  the 
other  hand,  as  perfect  finish  belongs  to  the  perfected  art,  a  progi*es- 
sive  finish  belongs  to  progressive  art ;  and  I  do  not  think  that  any 
more  fatal  sign  of  a  stupor  or  numbness  settling  upon  that 
undeveloped  art  could  possibly  be  detected,  than  that  it  had  been 
taken  aback  by  its  own  execution,  and  that  the  workmanship  had 
gone  ahead  of  the  design ;  while,  even  in  my  admission  of  absolute 
finish  in  the  right  place,  as  an  attribute  of  the  perfected  school,  I 
must  reserve  to  myself  the  right  of  answering  in  my  own  way  the 
two  very  important  questions,  what  is  finish  ?  and  what  is  its  right 
place  ? 

VII.  But  in  illustrating  either  of  these  points,  we  must  remember 
that  the  correspondence  of  workmanship  with  thought  is,  in  existent 
examples,  interfered  with  by  the  adoption  of  the  designs  of  an 
advanced  period  by  the  workmen  of  a  rude  one.  ^11  the  beginnings 
of  Christian  architecture  are  of  this  kind,  and  the  necessary 
consequence  is  of  coui-se  an  increase  of  the  visible  intei-val  between 
the  power  of  realisation  and  the  beauty  of  the  idea.  We  have  at 
first  an  imitation,  almost  savage  in  its  rudeness,  of  a  classical 
design ;  as  the  art  advances,  the  design  is  modified  by  a  mixture  of 
Gothic  grotesqueness,  and  the  execution  more  complete,  until 
a  hai-mony  is  established  between  the  two,  in  which  balance  they 
advance  to  new  perfection.  Now  during  the  whole  period  in  which 
the  ground  is  being  recovered,  there  will  be  found  in  the  living 


THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  12f 

architecture  marks  not  to  be  mistaken,  of  intense  impatience  ;  a 
struggle  towards  something  unattained,  which  causes  all  minor  points 
of  handling  to  be  neglected  ;  and  a  restless  disdain  of  all  qualities 
which  appear  either  to  confess  contentment  or  to  requu-e  a  time  and 
care  which  might  be  better  spent.  And,  exactly  as  a  good  and 
earnest  student  of  drawing  will  not  lose  time  in  ruling  lines  or 
finishing  backgrounds  about  studies  which,  while  they  have  answered 
his  immediate  purpose,  he  knows  to  be  imperfect  and  inferior  to 
what  he  will  do  hereafter, — so  the  \igor  of  a  true  school  of  early 
architecture,  which  is  either  working  under  the  influence  of  high 
example  or  which  is  itself  in  a  state  of  rapid  developement,  is  very 
curiously  traceable,  among  other  signs,  in  the  contempt  of  exact 
symmetry  and  measurement,  which  in  dead  architecture  are  the 
most  painful  necessities.  > 

VIII.  In  Plate  XII.  fig.  1.  I  have  given  a  most  singular  instance^ 
both  of  rude  execution  and  defied  symmetry,  in  the  little  pillar  and 
spandril  from  a  pannel  decoration  under  the  pulpit  of  St.  Mark's  at 
Venice.  The  imperfection  (not  merely  simplicity,  but  actual  rude- 
ness and  ugliness)  of  the  leaf  ornament  will  strike  the  eye  at  once : 
this  is  general  in  works  of  the  time,  but  it  is  not  so  common  to  find 
a  capital  which  has  been  so  carelessly  cut ;  its  imperfect  volutes 
being  pushed  up  one  side  iar  higher  than  on  the  other,  and  con- 
tracted on  that  side,  an  additional  drill  hole  being  j>ut  in  to  fill  the 
space ;  besides  this,  the  member  a,  of  the  mouldings,  is  a  roll  where 
it  follows  the  arch,  and  a  flat  fillet  at  a  ;  the  one  being  slurred  into 
the  other  at  the  angle  6,  and  finally  stopped  short  altogether  at  the 
other  side  by  the  most  uncourteous  and  remoi-seless  interference  of 
the  outer  moulding :  and  in  spite  of  all  this,  the  grace,  proportion, 
and  feeling  of  the  whole  arrangement  are  so  great,  that,  in  its 
place,  it  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired ;  all  the  science  and  symmetry 
in  the  world  could  not  beat  it.  In  fig.  4.  I  have  endeavored  to  give 
some  idea  of  the  execution  of  the  subordinate  portions  of  a  nuich 
higher  work,  the  pulpit  of  St.  Andrea  at  Pistoja,  by  Xicolo  Pisano. 
It  i?  covered  with  figure  sculptures,  executed  with  great  care  and 
dehcai  y ;  but  when  the  sculptor  came  to  the  simple  arch  mould- 
ings, he  did  not  choose  to  draw  the  eye  to  them  by  over  precision 
of  work  or  over  sharpness  of  shadow.  The  section  adopted,  X-,  ?«,  is 
pecuharly  simple,  and  so  slight  and  obtuse  in  its  recessions  as  never 
to  produce  a  sharp  line ;  and  it  is  worked  with  what  at  first  appears 

6* 


130  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

slovenliness,  but  is  in  fact  sculptural  sketching  ;  exactly  con'espond- 
ent  to  a  painter's  light  execution  of  a  background  :  the  lines  appear 
and  disappear  again,  are  sometimes  deep,  sometimes  shallow,  some- 
times quite  broken  off ;  and  the  recession  of  the  cusp  joins  that  of 
the  external  arch  at  %,  in  the  most  fearless  defiance  of  all  mathema- 
tical laws  of  curvilinear  contact. 

IX.  There  is  something  very  delightful  in  this  bold  expression  of 
the  mind  of  the  gTeat  master.  I  do  not  say  that  it  is  the  "  perfect 
work"  of  patience,  but  I  think  that  impatience  is  a  glorious  character 
in  an  advancing  school ;  and  I  love  the  Romanesque  and  early 
Gothic  especially,  because  they  aftbrd  so  much  room  for  it ;  acci- 
dental carelessness  of  measurement  or  of  execution  being  mingled 
undistinguishably  with  the  purposed  departures  fi'om  symmetrical 
regularity,  and  the  luxuriousness  of  perpetually  variable  fancy,  which 
are  eminently  characteristic  of  both  styles.  How  great,  how  frequent 
they  are,  and  how  brightly  the  severity  of  architectural  law  is 
reheved  by  their  grace  and  suddenness,  has  not,  I  think,  been  enough 
observed ;  still  less,  the  unequal  measurements  of  even  important 
features  professing  to  be  absolutely  symmetrical.  I  am  not  so  fami- 
liar with  modern  practice  as  to  speak  with  confidence  respecting  its 
ordinary  precision  ;  but  I  imagine  that  the  following  measures  of  the 
western  front  of  the  cathedral  of  Pisa,  would  be  looked  upon  by 
present  architects  as  very  blundering  approximations.  That  front  is 
divided  into  seven  arched  compartments,  of  which  the  second,  fourth 
or  central,  and  sixth  contain  doors ;  the  seven  are  in  a  most  subtle 
alternating  proportion ;  the  central  being  the  largest,  next  to  it  the 
second  and  sixth,  then  the  first  and  seventh,  lastly  the  third  and  fifth. 
By  this  arrangement,  of  course,  these  three  paii-s  should  be  equal ; 
and  they  are  so  to  the  eye,  but  I  found  their  actual  measures  to  be  the 
follo\\ing,  taken  from  pillar  to  pillar,  in  Itahan  braccia,  palmi  (four 
inches  each),  and  inches  : — 


Braccia. 

Palmi. 

Inches 

Totil  in 
Inches. 

1. 

Central  door 

- 

-    8 

0 

0 

= 

192 

2. 
3. 

Northern  door  ) 
Southern  door  \ 

_ 

-  6 

-  6 

3 

4 

3 

= 

157i 
163 

4. 
5. 

Extreme  northern  space 
Extreme  southern  space 

\ 

_ 

-  5 

-  6 

5 

1 

= 

143i 
148i 

6 
7. 

Northern  intervals  between  the  doors  )  5 
Southern  intervals  between  the  doors  \  5 

2 
2 

1 

= 

129 
129i 

THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  131 

There  is  thus  a  difference,  severally,  between  2,  3  and  4,  5,  of  five 
inches  and  a  half  in  the  one  case,  and  five  inches  in  the  other. 

X.  This,  however,  may  perhaps  be  partly  attributable  to  some 
accommodation  of  the  accidental  distortions  which  evidently  took 
place  in  the  walls  of  the  cathedral  during  their  building,  as  much  as 
in  those  of  the  campanile.  To  my  mind,  those  of  tlie  Duomo  are 
far  the  most  wonderful  of  the  tw^o  :  I  do  not  beheve  that  a  smgle 
pillar  of  its  walls  is  absolutely  vertical :  the  pavement  rises  and 
falls  to  different  heights,  or  rather  the  phnth  of  the  walls  sinks  into 
it  continually  to  different  depths,  the  whole  west  front  literally  over- 
hangs (I  have  not  plumbed  it ;  but  the  inclination  may  be  seen  by 
the  eye,  by  bringing  it  into  visual  contact  with  the  upright  pilasters 
of  the  Campo  Santo) :  and  a  most  extraordinary  distortion  in  the 
masonry  of  the  southern  wall  shows  that  this  inclination  had  begun 
when  the  first  story  was  built.  The  cornice  above  the  fii'st  arcade 
of  that  wall  touches  the  tops  of  eleven  out  of  its  fifteen  arches ;  but 
it  suddenly  leaves  the  tops  of  the  four  westernmost ;  the  arches  nod- 
ding westward  and  sinking  into  the  ground,  while  the  cornice  rises 
(or  seems  to  rise),  lea^ing  at  any  rate,  whether  by  the  rise  of  the  one 
or  the  fall  of  the  other,  an  interval  of  more  than  two  feet  between  it 
and  the  top  of  the  western  arch,  filled  by  added  courses  of  masomy. 
There  is  another  very  curious  exidence  of  this  struggle  of  the  archi- 
tect with  hi.^  yielding  wall  in  the  columns  of  the  main  entrance. 
(These  nolic^^-.  are  perhaps  somewhat  irrelevant  to  our  immediate 
subject,  but  they  appear  to  me  highly  interesting ;  and  they,  at  all 
events,  prove  one  of  the  points  on  which  I  would  insist, — how  much 
of  impeifection  and  variety  in  things  professing  to  be  sjTnmetrical 
the  eyes  of  those  eager  buildei*s  could  endure :  they  looked  to  love- 
hness  in  detail,  to  nobihty  in  the  whole,  never  to  petty  measure- 
ments.) Those  columns  of  the  principal  entrance  are  among  the 
loveliest  in  Italy ;  cyhndrical,  and  decorated  with  a  rich  arabesque 
of  sculptured  fohage,  which  at  the  base  extends  nearly  all  round 
them,  up  to  the  black  pilaster  in  which  they  are  lightly  engaged : 
but  the  shield  of  foliage,  bounded  by  a  severe  line,  narrows  to  their 
tops,  where  it  covers  their  frontal  segment  only ;  thus  gix'ing,  when 
laterally  seen,  a  terminal  hne  sloping  boldly  outwards,  which,  as  I 
think,  was  meant  to  conceal  the  accidental  leaning  of  the  western 
walls,  and,  by  it^  exaggerated  incHnation  in  the  same  direction,  to 
throw  them  by  comparison  into  a  seeming  vei-ticaL 


132  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

XI.  There  is  another  very  curious  instance  of  distortion  above  the 
central  door  of  the  west  fi'ont.  All  the  intervals  bet  wet  n  the  seven 
arches  are  filled  \nth.  black  marble,  each  containing  in  its  centre  a 
white  parallelogram  filled  -with  animal  mosaics,  and  the  whole  sur- 
mounted by  a  broad  white  band,  which,  generally,  does  not  touch 
the  parallelogram  below.  But  the  parallelogram  on  the  north  of  the 
central  arch  has  been  forced  into  an  obhque  position,  and  touches 
the  white  band ;  and,  as  if  the  architect  was  determined  to  show 
that  he  did  not  care  whether  it  did  or  not,  the  white  band  suddenly 
gets  thicker  at  that  place,  and  remains  so  over  the  two  next  arches. 
And  these  differences  are  the  more  curious  because  the  workmanship 
of  them  all  is  most  finished  and  masterly,  and  the  distorted  stones 
are  fitted  with  as  much  neatness  as  if  they  talhed  to  a  hair's  breadth. 
There  is  no  look  of  slurring  or  blundering  about  it ;  it  is  all  coolly 
filled  in,  as  if  the  builder  had  no  sense  of  an}i:hing  being  wrong  or 
extraordinary  :  I  only  Avish  we  had  a  httle  of  his  impudence. 

XII.  Still,  the  reader  will  say  that  all  these  variations  are  probably 
dependent  more  on  the  bad  foundation  than  on  the  architect's  feehng. 
Not  so  the  exquisite  dehcacies  of  change  in  the  proportions  and 
dimensions  of  the  apparently  symmetrical  arcades  of  the  west  fi'ont. 
It  will  be  remembered  that  I  said  the  tower  of  Pisa  was  the  only 
ugly  tower  in  Italy,  because  its  tiers  were  equal,  or  nearly  so,  in 
height ;  a  fault  this,  so  contrary  to  the  spiiit  of  the  builders  of  the 
time,  that  it  can  be  considered  only  as  an  unlucky  caprice.  Perhaps 
the  general  aspect  of  the  west  front  of  the  cathedral  may  then  have 
occurred  to  the  reader's  mind,  as  seemingly  another  contradiction  of 
the  rule  I  had  advanced.  It  would  not  have  been  so,  however,  even 
had  its  four  upper  arcades  been  actually  equal ;  as  they  are  subor- 
dinated to  the  great  seven-arched  lower  story,  in  the  manner  before 
noticed  respecting  the  spire  of  Sahsbury,  and  as  is  actually  the  case 
in  the  Duomo  of  Lucca  and  Tower  of  Pistoja.  But  the  Pisan  front 
is  far  more  subtly  proportioned.  Not  one  of  its  four  arcades  is  of 
like  height  with  another.  The  highest  is  the  third,  counting  upwards ; 
and  they  diminish  in  nearly  arithmetical  proportion  alternately ;  in 
the  order  3rd,  1st,  2nd,  4th.  The  inequahties  in  their  arches  are 
not  less  remarkable  :  they  at  first  strike  the  eye  as  all  equal ;  but 
there  is  a  grace  about  them  which  equahty  never  obtained  :  on  closer 
observation,  it  is  perceived  that  in  the  first  row  of  nineteen  arches, 
eighteen  are  equal,  and  the  central  one  larger  than  the  rest ;  in  the 


THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  135 

second  arcade,  the  nine  central  arches  stand  over  the  nine  below^ 
having,  hke  them,  the  ninth  central  one  largest.  But  on  their 
flanks,  where  is  the  slope  of  the  shoulder-like  pediment,  the  arches 
vanish,  and  a  wedge-shaped  frieze  takes  their  place,  tapering  out- 
wards, in  order  to  allow  the  columns  to  be  carried  to  the  extremity 
of  the  pediment ;  and  here,  where  the  heights  of  the  shafts  are  so 
far  shortened,  they  are  set  thicker  ;  five  shafts,  or  rather  fjur  and  a 
capital,  above,  to  four  of  the  arcade  below,  gi\ing  twenty-one  inter- 
vals instead  of  nineteen.  In  the  next  or  third  arcade, — which, 
remember,  is  the  highest, — eight  archer,  all  equal,  are  given  in  the 
space  of  the  nine  below,  so  that  there  is  now  a  central  shaft  instead 
of  a  central  arch,  and  the  span  of  the  arches  is  increased  in  propor- 
tion to  their  increased  height.  Finally,  in  the  uppermost  arcade, 
which  is  the  lowest  of  all,  the  arches,  the  same  in  number  as  those 
below,  are  narrower  than  any  of  the  fticade ;  the  whole  eight  going 
very  nearly  above  the  six  below  them,  while  the  terminal  arches  of 
the  lower  arcade  are  surmounted  by  flanking  masses  of  decorated 
wall  with  projecting  figures. 

XIII.  Now  I  call  that  Living  Architecture.  There  is  sensation 
in  every  inch  of  it,  and  an  accommodation  to  every  architectural 
necessity,  with  a  determined  variation  in  arrangement,  which  is 
exactly  like  the  related  proportions  and  provisions  in  the  structure 
of  organic  form.  I  have  not  space  to  examine  the  still  loveher  pro- 
portioning of  the  external  shafts  of  the  apse  of  this  marvellous 
building.  I  prefer,  lest  the  reader  should  think  it  a  pecuhar  example, 
to  state  the  structure  of  another  church,  the  most  graceful  and  grand 
piece  of  Romanesque  work,  as  a  fragment,  in  north  Italy,  that  of 
San  Giovanni  Evangelista  at  Pistoja. 

The  side  of  that  church  has  three  stories  of  arcade,  diminishing 
in  height  in  bold  geometrical  proportion,  while  the  arches,  for  the 
most  part,  increase  in  number  in  arithmetical,  i.  e.  two  in  the  second 
arcade,  and  three  in  the  third,  to  one  in  the  first.  Lest,  however, 
this  arrangement  should  be  too  formal,  of  the  fourteen  arches  in  the 
lowest  series,  that  which  contains  the  door  is  made  larger  than  the 
rest,  and  is  not  in  the  middle,  but  the  sixth  fi'om  the  West,  leax-ing 
five  on  one  side  and  eight  on  the  other.  Farther :  this  lowest 
arcade  is  terminated  by  broad  flat  pilasters,  about  half  the  width  of 
its  arches ;  but  the  arcade  above  is  continuous ;  only  the  two 
extreme  arches  at  the  west  end  are  made  larger  than  all  the  rest, 


134  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

and  instead  of  coming,  as  they  should,  into  the  space  of  the  lowei 
extreme  arch,  take  in  both  it  and  its  broad  pilaster.  Even  tliis, 
however,  was  not  out  of  order  enough  to  satisfy  the  architect's  eye ; 
for  there  were  still  two  arches  above  to  each  single  one  below  :  so, 
at  the  east  end,  where  there  were  more  arches,  and  the  eye  might 
be  more  easily  cheated,  what  does  he  do  but  narrow  the  two 
extreme  lower  arches  by  half  a  braccio ;  while  he  at  the  same  time 
slightly  enlarged  the  upper  ones,  so  as  to  get  only  seventeen  upper 
to  nine  lower,  instead  of  eighteen  to  nine.  The  eye  is  thus 
thoroughly  confused,  and  the  whole  building  thrown  into  one  mass, 
by  the  curious  variations  in  the  adjustments  of  the  superimposed 
shafts,  not  one  of  which  is  either  exactly  in  nor  positively  out  of  its 
place  ;  and,  to  get  this  managed  the  more  cunningly,  there  is  from 
an  inch  to  an  inch  and  a  half  of  gradual  gain  in  the  space  of  the 
four  eastern  arches,  besides  the  confessed  half  braccio.  Thejr 
measures,  counting  n-om  the  east,  I  found  as  follows : — 


Braccia. 

Palmi. 

Inches. 

1st 

3 

0 

1 

2nd       - 

3 

0 

2 

3rd 

3 

3 

2 

4lh 

3 

3 

3i 

The  upper  arcade  is  managed  on  the  same  principle  ;  it  looks  at 
first  as  if  there  were  three  arches  to  each  under  pair ;  but  tiiere  are, 
in  reality,  only  thirty-eight  (or  thirty-seven,  I  am  not  quii.^  certain 
of  this  number)  to  the  twenty-seven  below  ;  and  the  C'.raTrms  get 
into  all  manner  of  relative  positions.  Even  then,  the  builder  was 
not  satisfied,  but  must  needs  carry  the  irregularity  into  the  spiing  of 
the  arches,  and  actually,  while  the  general  effect  is  of  a  symmetrical 
arcade,  there  is  not  one  of  the  arches  the  same  in  height  as  another ; 
their  tops  undulate  all  along  the  wall  like  waves  along  a  harbor 
quay,  some  nearly  toucliing  the  string  course  above,  and  othei*3 
falhng  from  it  as  much  as  five  or  six  inches. 

XIV.  Let  us  next  examine  the  plan  of  the  west  front  of  St 
Mark's  at  Venice,  which,  though  in  many  respects  imperfect,  is  in 
its  proportions,  and  as  a  piece  of  rich  and  fantastic  color,  as  lovely  a 
dream  as  ever  filled  human  imagination.  It  may,  perhaps,  however, 
interest  the  reader  to  hear  one  opposite  opinion  upon  this  subject ; 
and  aft«r  what  has  been  urged  in  the  preceding  pages  respecting 


THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  135 

proportion  in  general,  more  especially  respecting  the  wrongness  of 
balanced  cathedral  towers  and  other  regular  designs,  together  with 
my  frequent  references  to  the  Doge's  palace,  and  campanile  of  St. 
Mark's,  as  models  of  perfection,  and  ray  praise  of  the  former 
especially  as  projecting  above  its  second  arcade,  the  following 
extracts  from  the  journal  of  Wood  the  architect,  written  on  his 
arrival  at  Venice,  may  have  a  pleasing  freshness  in  them,  and  may 
show  that  I  have  not  been  stating  principles  altogether  trite  or 
accepted. 

"  The  strange  looking  church,  and  the  great  ugly  campanile,  could 
not  be  mistaken.  The  exterior  of  this  church  surprises  you  by  its 
extreme  ugliness,  more  than  by  anything  else." 

"  The  Ducal  Palace  is  even  more  ugly  than  any  thing  I  have 
previously  mentioned.  Considered  in  detail,  I  can  imagine  no 
alteration  to  make  it  tolerable  ;  but  if  this  lofty  wall  had  been  set 
back  behind  the  two  stories  of  httle  arches,  it  would  have  been  a 
very  noble  production." 

After  more  observations  on  "  a  certain  justness  of  proportion," 
and  on  the  appearance  of  riches  and  power  in  the  church,  to  which 
he  ascribes  a  pleasing  eflfect,  he  goes  on :  "  Some  persons  are  of 
opinion  that  irregularity  is  a  necessary  part  of  its  excellence.  I  am 
decidedly  of  a  contrary  opinion,  and  am  convinced  that  a  regular 
design  of  the  same  sort  would  be  far  superior.  Let  an  oblong  of 
good  architecture,  but  not  very  showy,  conduct  to  a  fine  cathedral, 
which  should  appear  between  two  lofty  towers  and  have  two  obelisks 
in  fi'out,  and  on  each  side  of  this  cathedral  let  other  squares  partially 
open  into  the  first,  and  one  of  these  extend  down  to  a  harbor  or  sea 
shore,  and  you  would  have  a  scene  which  might  challenge  any  thing 
in  existence." 

Why  Mr.  Wood  was  unable  to  enjoy  the  color  of  St.  Mark's,  or 
perceive  the  majesty  of  the  Ducal  palace,  the  reader  will  see  after 
reading  the  two  following  extracts  regarding  the  Oaracci  and 
Michael  Angelo. 

''  The  pictures  here  (Bologna)  are  to  ray  taste  far  preferable  to 
those  of  Venice,  for  if  the  Venetian  school  surpass  in  coloring,  and, 
perhaps,  in  composition,  the  Bolognese  is  decidedly  superior  in 
drawing  and  expression,  and  the  Caraccis  shine  here  like  Goils^ 

"  What  is  it  that  is  so  much  admired  in  this  aitist  (M.  Angelo)  ? 
Some    contend    for    a  grandeur   of   composition  in   the    hues  and 


136  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

dispf  sition  of  the  figures  ;  this,  I  confess,  I  do  not  comprehend  ;  yet, 
while  I  acknowledge  the  beauty  of  certain  forms  and  proportions  in 
architecture,  I  cannot  consistently  deny  that  similar  merits  may 
exist  in  painting,  though  I  am  unfortunately  unable  to  appreciate 
them." 

I  think  these  passages  very  valuable,  as  sho^ving  the  effect  of  a 
contracted  knowledge  and  false  taste  in  painting  upon  an  architect's 
understanding  of  his  own  art ;  and  especially  with  what  curious 
notions,  or  lack  of  notions,  about  proportion,  that  art  has  been 
sometimes  practised.  For  Mr.  Wood  is  by  no  means  unintelligent 
in  his  observations  generally,  and  his  criticisms  on  classical  art  are 
often  most  valuable.  But  those  who  love  Titian  better  than  the 
Caracci,  and  who  see  something  to  admire  in  Michael  Angelo,  will, 
perhaps,  be  willing  to  proceed  with  me  to  a  charitable  examination 
of  St.  Mark's.  For,  although  the  present  course  of  European 
events  affords  us  some  chance  of  seeing  the  changes  proposed  by 
Mr.  Wood  carried  into  execution,  we  may  still  esteem  ourselves 
fortunate  in  having  fii'st  known  how  it  was  left  by  the  builders 
of  the  eleventh  century. 

XV".  The  entire  front  is  composed  of  an  upper  and  lower  series 
of  arches,  enclosing  spaces  of  wall  decorated  with  mosaic,  and 
supported  on  ranges  of  shafts  of  which,  in  the  lower  series  of  arches, 
there  is  an  upper  range  superimposed  on  a  lower.  Thus  we  have 
five  vertical  divisions  of  the  facade  ;  /.  e.  two  tiers  of  shafts,  and  the 
arched  wall  they  bear,  below  ;  one  tier  of  shafts,  and  the  arched  wall 
they  bear  above.  In  order,  however,  to  bind  the  two  main  divi- 
sions together,  the  central  lower  arch  (the  main  entrance)  rises  above 
the  level  of  the  gallery  and  balustrade  which  crown  the  lateral  arches. 

The  proportioning  of  the  columns  and  walls  of  the  lower  story  is 
so  lovely  and  so  varied,  that  it  would  need  pages  of  descriptioa 
before  it  could  be  fully  undei'stood ;  but  it  may  be  generally  stated 
thus :  The  height  of  the  lower  shafts,  upper  shafts,  and  wall,  being 
severally  expressed  by  a,  h,  and  c,  then  a  '.  c  v.  c  :  h  [a  being  the 
highest) ;  and  the  diameter  of  shaft  h  is  generally  to  the  diameter  of 
shaft  a  as  height  h  is  to  height  a,  or  something  less,  allowing  for 
the  large  plinth  which  diminishes  the  apparent  height  of  the 
upper  shaft :  and  when  this  is  their  proportion  of  width,  one  shaft 
above  is  put  above  one  below,  wdth  sometimes  another  upper  shaft 
interposed :  but  in  the  extreme  arches  a  single  under  shaft  bean 


THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  13^ 

two  upper,  proportioned  as  truly  as  the  bouglis  of  a  tree ;  that  is  to 
say,  tlie  diameter  of  each  upper=^  of  lower.  There  being  thus  tho 
three  terms  of  proportion  gained  in  the  lower  story,  the  upper,  while 
it  is  only  divided  into  two  main  members,  in  order  that  the  whole 
height  may  not  be  divided  into  an  even  number,  has  the  third  term 
added  in  its  pinnacles.  So  far  of  the  vertical  division.  The  lateral 
is  still  more  subtle.  There  are  seven  arches  in  the  lower  story ;  and* 
calling  the  central  arch  a,  and  counting  to  the  extremity,  they  diminish 
in  the  alternate  order  a,  c,  b,  d.  The  upper  story  has  five  arches, 
and  two  added  pinnacles  ;  and  these  diminish  in  regular  order,  the 
central  being  the  largest,  and  the  outermost  the  least.  Hence,  while 
one  proportion  ascends,  another  descends,  like  parts  in  music ;  and 
yet  the  pyramidal  form  is  secured  for  the  whole,  and,  which  was 
another  great  point  of  attention,  none  of  the  shafts  of  the  upper 
arches  stand  over  those  of  the  lower. 

XVI.  It  might  have  been  thought  that,  by  this  plan,  enough 
variety  had  been  secured,  but  the  builder  was  not  satisfied  even  thus : 
for — and  this  is  the  point  bearing  on  the  present  part  of  our  subject 
— always  calling  the  central  arch  a,  and  the  lateral  ones  h  and  c  in 
succession,  the  northern  6  and  c  are  considerably  ^vider  than  the 
southern  b  and  c,  but  the  southern  c?  is  as  much  ^vider  than  the 
northern  c?,  and  lower  beneath  its  cornice  besides ;  and,  more 
than  this,  I  hardly  beheve  that  one  of  the  effectively  symmetrical 
members  of  the  facade  is  actually  symmetrical  with  any  other.  I 
regret  that  I  cannot  state  the  actual  measures.  I  gave  up  the  taking 
them  upon  the  spot,  owing  to  their  excessive  complexity,  and  the 
embarrassment  caused  by  the  yielding  and  subsidence  of  the  arches. 

Do  not  let  it  be  supposed  that  I  imagine  the  Byzantine  workmen 
to  have  had  these  various  principles  in  their  minds  as  they  built.  I 
beheve  they  built  altogether  frou\  feeling,  and  that  it  was  because 
they  did  so,  that  there  is  this  marvellous  life,  changefulness,  and 
subtlety  running  through  their  every  arrangement;  and  that  we 
reason  upon  the  lovely  building  as  we  should  upon  some  foir  growth 
of  the  trees  of  the  earth,  that  know  not  their  own  beauty. 

XVII.  Perhaps,  however,  a  stranger  instimce  than  any  I  have 
yet  given,  of  the  daring  variation  of  pretended  symmetry,  is  found 
in  the  fi'ont  of  the  Cathedral  of  Bayeux.  It  consists  of  five  arches 
with  steep  pediments,  the  outermost  filled,  the  three  central  with 
doors ;  and  they  appear,  at  first,  to  diminish  in  regular  proportion 


138  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

from  tlie  principal  one  in  the  centre.  The  two  lateral  doors  are  very 
curiously  managed.  The  tympana  of  their  arches  are  filled  with 
bas-reliefe,  in  four  tiers ;  in  the  lowest  tier  there  is  in  each  a  little 
temple  or  gate  containing  the  principal  figure  (in  that  on  the  right, 
it  is  the  gate  of  Hades  vnih  Lucifer).  This  little  temple  is  earned, 
like  a  capital,  by  an  isolated  shaft  which  divides  the  whole  arch  at 
about  §  of  its  breadth,  the  larger  portion  outmost ;  and  in  that 
larger  portion  is  the  inner  entrance  door.  This  exact  correspondence, 
hi  the  treatment  of  both  gates,  might  lead  us  to  expect  a  correspond- 
ence in  dimension.  Not  at  all.  The  small  inner  northern  entrance 
measures,  in  Enghsh  feet  and  inches,  4  ft.  1  in.  fi-om  jamb  to  jamb, 
and  the  southern  five  feet  exactly.  Five  inches  in  five  feet  is  a  con- 
siderable variation.  The  outer  northern  porch  measures,  from  face 
shaft  to  face  shaft,  13  ft.  1.1  in.,  and  the  southern,  14  ft,  6  in. ;  giving 
a  difference  of  7  in.  on  14^  ft.  There  are  also  variations  in  the 
pediment  decorations  not  less  extraordinary. 

XVIII.  I  imagine  I  have  given  instances  enough,  though  I  could 
multiply  them  indefinitely,  to  prove  that  these  variations  are  not 
mere  blunders,  nor  carelessnesses,  but  the  result  of  a  fixed  scorn,  if 
not  dishke,  of  accuracy  in  measurements  ;  and,  in  most  Oci-es,  I  believe, 
of  a  determined  resolution  to  work  out  an  effective  symm  :t:y  by  varia- 
tions as  subtle  as  those  of  Nature.  To  what  lengths  this  principle 
was  sometimes  carried,  we  shall  see  by  the  veiy  singular  management 
of  the  towers  of  Abbeville.  I  do  not  say  it  is  right,  ^tiil  less  that  it 
i-,  wrong,  but  it  is  a  wonderful  proof  of  the  fearlessness  of  a  livmg 
architecture  ;  for,  say  what  we  will  of  it,  that  Flambo^  ar-t  of  France, 
however  morbid,  was  as  \'ivid  and  intense  in  its  aniriiation  as  ever 
any  phase  of  mortal  mind  ;  and  it  would  have  hved  till  now,  if  it 
had  not  taken  to  telhng  lies.  I  have  before  noticed  the  general 
difficulty  of  managing  even  lateral  di^^siGn,  when  *:  is  into  two 
equal  parts,  unless  there  be  some  third  reconcihng  mejuijer.  I  shall 
give,  hereafter,  more  examples  of  the  modes  in  which  thi-  reoonciliation 
is  effected  in  towers  with  double  hghts  :  the  Abbeville  architect  put 
bis  sword  to  the  knot  perhaps  rather  too  sharply.  Vexed  by  the 
want  of  unity  between  his  two  windows  he  literally  laid  their  heads 
together,  and  so  distorted  their  ogee  curves,  as  to  lea^  e  ouly  one  of 
the  trefoiled  panels  above,  on  the  inner  side,  and  three  on  the  outer 
side  of  each  arch.  The  arrangement  is  given  in  l^late  XII.,  fig. 
3.     Associated  with  the  various  undulation  of   flamboyant  curves 


THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  139 

below,  it  is  in  the  real  tower  hardly  observed,  while  it  binds  it  into 
one  mass  in  general  effect.  Granting  it,  however,  to  be  ugly  and 
wrong,  I  like  sins  of  the  kind,  for  the  sake  of  the  courage  it  requires 
to  commit  them.  In  Plate  II.  (part  of  a  small  chapel  attached  to 
the  West  front  of  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Lo),  the  reader  ^\^ll  see  an 
instance,  from  the  same  architecture,  of  a  violation  of  its  own 
principles  for  the  sake  of  a  peculiar  meaning.  If  there  be  any  one 
feature  which  the  flamboyant  architect  loved  to  decorate  richly,  it  was 
the  niche — it  was  what  the  capital  is  to  the  Corinthian  ord^r ;  yet 
in  the  case  before  us  there  is  an  ugly  beehive  put  in  the  place  of  the 
principal  niche  of  the  arch.  I  am  not  sure  if  I  am  right  in  my 
interpretation  of  its  meaning,  but  I  have  little  doubt  that  two  figures 
below,  now  broken  away,  once  represented  an  Annunciation  ;  and 
on  another  part  of  the  same  cathedral,  I  find  the  descent  of  the 
Spirit,  encompassed  by  rays  of  light,  represented  very  nearly  in  the 
form  of  the  niche  in  question ;  which  appears,  therefore,  to  be 
intended  for  a  representation  of  this  effulgence,  while  at  the  same 
time  it  was  made  a  canopy  for  the  delicate  figures  below.  Whether 
this  was  its  meaning  or  not,  it  is  remarkable  as  a  daring  departure 
from  the  common  habits  of  the  time. 

XIX.  Far  more  splendid  is  a  hcense  taken  with  the  niche  deco- 
ration of  the  portal  of  St.  Maclou  at  Rouen.  The  subject  of  the 
tympanum  bas-relief  is  the  Last  Judgment,  and  the  sculj)ture  of  the 
inferno  side  is  carried  out  with  a  degree  of  power  whose  fearful 
gi'otesqueness  I  can  only  describe  as  a  mingling  of  the  minds  of 
Orcagna  and  Hogarth.  The  demons  are  perhaps  even  more  awful 
than  Orcagna's  ;  and,  in  some  of  the  expressions  of  debased  humanity 
in  its  utmost  despair,  the  English  painter  is  at  least  equalled.  Not 
less  wild  is  the  imagination  which  gives  fury  and  fear  even  to  the 
placing  of  the  figures.  An  e\i\  angel,  poised  on  the  ^ving,  drives 
the  condemned  troops  from  before  the  Judgment  seat ;  ^\ith  his  left 
hand  he  drags  behind  him  a  cloud,  which  he  is  spreading  like  a 
winding-sheet  over  them  all ;  but  they  are  urged  by  him  so  furiously, 
that  they  are  driven  not  merely  to  the  extreme  limit  of  that  scene, 
which  the  sculptor  confined  elsewhere  within  the  tympanum,  but  out 
of  the  tympanum  and  into  the  niclies  of  the  arch  ;  while  the  flames 
that  follow  them,  bent  by  the  blast,  as  it  seems,  of  the  angel's  wings, 
rush  into  the  niches  also,  and  burst  up  through  their  tracery^  the 
tliree  lowermost  niches  being  represented   as  all   on  fire ,    while. 


140  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

instead  of  their  usual  vaulted  and  ribbed  ceiling,  there  is  a  demon 
in  uie  roof  of  each,  with  his  wings  folded  over  it,  grinning  down  out 
of  the  black  shadow. 

XX.  I  have,  however,  given  enough  instances  of  \'itality  shown  in 
mere  daring,  whether  wise,  as  surely  in  this  last  instance,  or  in 
expedient ;  but,  as  a  single  example  of  the  Vitality  of  Assimilation, 
the  faculty  which  turns  to  its  puiposes  all  material  that  is  submitted 
to  it,  I  would  refer  the  reader  to  the  extraordinary  columns  of  the 
arcade  on  the  south  side  of  the  Cathedral  of  Ferrara.  A  single  arch 
of  it  is  given  in  Plate  XIII.  on  the  right.  Four  such  arches  form- 
ing a  group,  there  are  interposed  two  pairs  of  columns,  as  seen  on 
the  left  of  the  same  plate  ;  and  then  come  another  four  arches.  It 
is  a  long  arcade  of,  I  suppose,  not  less  than  forty  arches,  perhaps  of 
many  more  ;  and  in  the  grace  and  siraphcity  of  its  stilted  Byzantine 
curves  I  hardly  know  its  equal.  Its  like,  in  fancy  of  column,  I 
certainly  do  not  know;  there  being  hardly  two  correspondent,  and 
the  architect  having  been  ready,  as  it  seems,  to  adopt  ideas  and 
resemblances  from  any  sources  whatsoever.  The  vegetation  gro^\^ng 
up  the  two  columns  is  fine,  though  bizarre  ;  the  distorted  pillai*s 
beside  it  suggest  images  of  less  agreeable  character;  the  serpentine 
arrangements  founded  on  the  usual  Byzantine  double  knot  are 
generally  graceful ;  but  I  was  puzzled  to  account  for  the  excessively 
ugly  type  of  the  pillar,  fig.  3.,  one  of  a  group  of  four.  It  so 
happened,  fortunately  for  me,  that  there  had  been  a  fair  in  Ferrara  ; 
and,  when  I  had  finished  my  sketch  of  the  pillar,  I  had  to  get  out 
of  the  way  of  some  merchants  of  miscellaneous  wares,  who  were 
remo\ing  their  stall.  It  had  been  shaded  by  an  awning  supported 
by  poles,  which,  in  order  that  the  covering  might  be  raised  or 
lowered  according  to  the  height  of  the  sun,  were  composed  of  two 
separate  pieces,  fitted  to  each  other  by  a  rack^  in  which  I  beheld 
the  prototype  of  my  ugly  pillar.  It  will  not  be  thought,  after  what 
I  have  above  sp^d  of  the  inexpedience  of  imitating  anything  but 
natural  form,  that  I  advance  this  architect's  practice  as  altogether 
exemplary  ;  yet  the  humility  is  instructive,  which  condescended  to 
such  sources  for  motives  of  thought,  the  boldness,  which  could 
depart  so  far  from  all  estabhshed  types  of  form,  and  the  life  and 
feeling,  which  out  of  an  assemblage  of  such  quaint  and  uncouth 
materials,  could  produce  an  harmonious  piece  of  ecclesiastical 
architecture. 


n 


i 


<«^^- 


THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  141 

XXI.  I  have  dwelt,  however,  perhaps,  too  long  upon  that  formX^ 
of  vitality  which  is  known  almost  as  much  by  its  errors  as  by  its    ' 
atonements  for  them.     We  must  briefly  note  the  operation   of  it, 
which  is    always   right,   and  always  necessaiy,  upon   those   lesser 
details,   where  it  can   neither   be   superseded   by   precedents,  nor 
repressed  by  proprieties. 

I  said,  early  in  this  essay,  that  hand-work  might  always  be  known 
from  machine-work  ;  observing,  however,  at  the  same  time,  that  it 
was  possible  for  men  to  turn  themselves  into  machines,  and  to 
reduce  their  labor  to  the  machine  level ;  but  so  long  as  men  work 
as  men,  putting  their  heart  into  what  they  do,  and  doing  their  best, 
it  mattei-s  not  how  bad  w^orkmen  they  may  be,  there  will  be  that  in 
the  handling  which  is  above  all  price  :  it  will  be  plainly  seen  that 
some  places  have  been  delighted  in  more  than  others — that  there 
has  been  a  pause,  and  a  care  about  them ;  and  tlien  there  will  come 
careless  bits,  and  fast  bits ;  and  here  the  chisel  will  have  struck  hard, 
and  there  lightly,  and  anon  timidly ;  and  if  the  man's  mind  as  well 
as  his  heart  went  with  his  work,  all  this  will  be  in  the  right  places, 
and  each  part  will  set  oflT  the  other ;  and  the  effect  of  the  whole,  as 
compared  with  the  same  design  cut  by  a  machine  or  a  lifeless  hand, 
wdll  be  like  that  of  poetry  well  read  and  deeply  felt  to  that  of  the 
same  verses  jangled  by  rote.  There  are  many  to  whom  the  dif- 
ference is  imperceptible ;  but  to  those  who  love  poetry  it  is  every- 
thing— they  had  rather  not  hear  it  at  all,  than  hear  it  ill  read ;  and 
to  those  who  love  Architecture,  the  life  and  accent  of  the  hand  are 
everything.  They  had  rather  not  have  ornament  at  all,  than  see  it 
ill  cut — deadly  cut,  that  is.  I  cannot  too  often  repeat,  it  is  not 
coai*se  cutting,  it  is  not  blunt  cutting,  that  is  necessarily  bad ;  but  it 
is  cold  cutting — the  look  of  equal  trouble  every\\  here — the  smooth, 
diffused  tranquilHty  of  heartless  pains — the  regularity  of  a  plough  in 
a  level  field.  The  chill  is  more  likely,  indeed,  to  show  itself  in 
finished  work  than  in  any  other — men  cool  and  tire  as  they 
complete  :  and  if  completeness  is  thought  to  be  vested  in  polish,  and 
to  be  attainable  by  help  of  sand  paper,  we  may  as  well  give  the 
woik  to  the  engine-lathe  at  once.  But  ri(/ht  finish  is'  simply  the 
full  rendering  of  the  intended  impression ;  and  high  finish  is  the 
rendering  of  a  well  intended  and  vivid  impression ;  and  it  is  oftener 
got  by  rough  than  fine  handhng.  I  am  not  sure  whether  it  is 
frequently  enough  obseived  that  sculpture  is  not  the  mere  cutting 


142  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

of  the  form  of  anything  in  stone ;  it  is  the  cutting  of  the  effect  of  it. 
Very  often  the  true  form,  in  the  marble,  would  not  be  in  the  least 
hke  itself.  The  sculptor  must  paint  with  his  chisel :  half  his  touches 
are  not  to  realize,  but  to  put  power  into  the  form :  they  are  touches 
of  Hght  and  shadow ;  and  raise  a  ridge,  or  sink  a  hollow,  not  to 
represent  an  actual  ridge  or  hollow,  but  to  get  a  hne  of  light,  or  a 
spot  of  darkness.  In  a  coarse  way,  this  kind  of  execution  is  very 
marked  in  old  French  woodwork ;  the  ii-ises  of  the  eyes  of  its  chime- 
ric monsters  being  cut  boldly  into  holes,  which,  variously  placed, 
and  always  dark,  give  all  kinds  of  strange  and  startling  expressions, 
averted  and  askance,  to  the  fantastic  countenances.  Perhaps  the 
highest  examples  of  this  kind  of  sculpture-painting  are  the  works  of 
Mino  da  Fiesole ;  their  best  effects  being  reached  by  strange  angular, 
and  seemingly  rude,  touches  of  the  chisel.  The  lips  of  one  of  the  child- 
ren on  the  tombs  in  the  church  of  the  Badia,  appear  only  half  tiuished 
when  they  are  seen  close ;  yet  the  expression  is  farther  carried  and 
more  ineffable,  than  in  any  piece  of  marble  I  have  ever  seen, 
especially  considering  its  delicacy,  and  the  softness  of  the  child- 
features.  In  a  sterner  kind,  that  of  the  statues  in  the  sacristy  of  St. 
Lorenzo  equals  it,  and  there  again  by  incompletion.  I  know  no 
example  of  work  in  which  the  forms  are  absolutely  true  and  complete 
where  such  a  result  is  attained ;  in  Greek  sculptures  it  is  not  even 
attempted. 

XXII.  It  is  evident  that,  for  architectural  appHances,  such  mascu- 
line handling,  likely  as  it  must  be  to  retain  its  effectiveness  when 
higher  finish  would  be  injured  by  time,  must  always  be  the  most 
expedient ;  and  as  it  is  impossible,  even  were  it  desirable  that  the 
highest  finish  should  be  given  to  the  quantity  of  work  which  covei-s 
a  large  building,  it  A\ill  be  understood  how  precious  the  intelligence 
must  become,  which  renders  incompletion  itself  a  means  of  additional 
expression ;  and  how  great  must  be  the  difference,  when  the  touches 
are  rude  and  few,  between  those  of  a  careless  and  those  of  a  regard- 
ful mind.  It  is  not  easy  to  retain  anything  of  their  character  in  a 
copy ;  yet  the  reader  will  find  one  or  two  illustrative  points  in  the 
examples,  given  in  Plate  XIV.,  fi'om  the  bas-reliefs  of  the  north  of 
Rouen  Cathedral.  There  are  three  square  pedestals  under  the  three 
main  niches  on  each  side  of  it,  and  one  in  the  centre ;  each  of  these 
being  on  two  sides  decorated  \a\X\  five  quatrefoiled  panels.  There  are 
thus  seventy  quatrefoils  in  the  lower  ornament  of  the  gata  alone, 


THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  143 

without  counting  tliose  of  the  outer  course  round  it,  and  of  the 
pedestals  outside :  each  quatrefoil  is  filled  with  a  bas-relief,  the  whole 
reaching  to  something  above  a  man's  height.  A  modern  architect 
would,  of  course,  have  made  all  the  five  quatrefoils  of  each  pedestal- 
side  equal :  not  so  the  Mediaeval.  The  general  form  being  apparent- 
ly a  quatrefoil  composed  of  semicircles  on  the  sides  of  a  square,  it 
will  be  found  on  examination  that  none  of  the  arcs  are  semicircles, 
and  none  of  the  basic  figures  squares.  The  latter  are  rhomboids, 
having  tht-u*  acute  or  obtuse  angles  uppermost  according  to  their 
larger  or  smaller  size  ;  and  the  arcs  upon  their  sides  shde  into  such 
places  as  they  can  get  in  the  angles  of  the  enclosing  parallelooram, 
leaving  intervals,  at  each  of  the  four  angles,  of  various  shapes,  which 
are  filled  each  by  an  animal.  The  size  of  the  whole  panel  being 
thus  varied,  tho  two  lowest  of  the  five  are  tall,  the  next  two  short, 
and  the  upperi  nost  a  little  higher  than  the  lowest ;  while  in  the 
course  of  las  r  "lieis  which  surrounds  the  gate,  calling  either  of  the 
two  lowest  ;^ which  are  equal)  a,  and  either  of  the  next  two  b,  and 
the  fifth  and  sixth  c  and  d,  then  d  (the  largest)  :c::  c:a::  a:b.  It 
is  wonderful  how  much  of  the  grace  of  the  whole  depends  on  these 
variations. 

XXIII.  E  tch  of  the  angles,  it  was  said,  is  filled  by  an  animal. 
There  are  tV^^  70x4=280  animals,  all  different,  in  the  mere 
fillings  of  the  intervals  of  the  bas-rehets.  Three  of  these  intervals, 
with  their  beasts,  actual  size,  the  cur\-es  being  traced  upon  the  stone, 
I  have  given  in  Plate  XIV. 

I  say  nollaiig  of  their  general  design,  or  of  the  lines  of  the  wings 
and  scales,  which  are  perhaps,  unless  in  those  of  the  central  drao-on, 
not  much  above  the  usual  commonplaces  of  good  ornamental  work  ; 
but  there  is  an  e\'idence  in  the  features  of  thoughtfulness  and  fancy 
which  is  not  common,  at  least  now-a-days.  The  upper  creature  on 
the  left  is  biting  something,  the  form  of  which  is  hardly  traceable  in 
the  defaced  stone — but  biting  he  is ;  and  the  reader  cannot  but 
recognise  in  the  peculiarly  reverted  eye  the  expression  which  is  never 
seen,  as  I  think,  but  in  the  eye  of  a  dog  gnawing  something  in  jest, 
and  preparing  to  start  away  with  it :  the  meaning  of  the  glance,  so  far 
as  it  can  be  marked  by  the  mere  incision  of  the  chisel,  will  be  felt 
by  comparing  it  with  the  eye  of  the  couchant  figure  on  the  right,  in 
its  gloomy  and  angry  brooding.  The  plan  of  this  head,  and  the  nod 
of  the  cap  o\'er  its  brow,  are  fine  ;  but  there  is  a  little  touch  above 


144  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

the  hand  especially  well  meant :  the  fellow  is  vexed  and  puzzled  in 
his  malice  ;  and  his  hand  is  pressed  hard  on  his  cheek  bone,  and  the 
flesh  of  the  cheek  is  wrinkled  under  the  eye  by  the  pressure.  The 
whole,  indeed,  looks  wretchedly  coarse,  when  it  is  seen  on  a  scale  in 
which  it  is  naturally  compared  with  delicate  figure  etchings ;  but 
considering  it  as  a  mere  filling  of  an  intei-stice  on  the  outside  of  a 
cathedral  gate,  and  as  one  of  more  than  three  hundred  (for  in  my 
estimate  I  did  not  include  the  outer  pedestals),  it  proves  very  noble 
vitality  in  the  art  of  the  time. 

XXIV.  I  beheve  the  right  question  to  ask,  respecting  all  ornament, 
is  simply  this  :  Was  it  done  ^^ith  enjoyment — was  the  carver  happy 
while  he  was  about  it  ?  It  may  be  the  hardest  work  possible,  and  the 
harder  because  so  much  pleasure  was  taken  in  it ;  but  it  must  have 
been  happy  too,  or  it  ^\^ll  not  be  hAing.  How  much  of  the  stone 
mason's  toil  this  condition  would  exclude  I  hardly  venture  to  consider, 
but  the  condition  is  absolute.  There  is  a  Gothic  church  lately  built 
near  Rouen,  vile  enough,  indeed,  in  its  general  composition,  but 
excessively  rich  in  detail ;  many  of  the  details  are  designed  with 
taste,  and  all  evidently  by  a  man  who  has  studied  old  work  closely. 
But  it  is  all  as  dead  as  leaves  in  December ;  there  is  not  one  tender 
touch,  not  one  warm  stroke,  on  the  whole  facade.  The  men  who 
did  it  hated  it,  and  were  thankful  when  it  was  done.  And  so  long 
as  they  do  so  they  are  merely  loading  your  walls  ^^ith  shapes  of 
clay:  the  garlands  of  everlastings  in  Pere  la  Chaise  are  more 
cheerful  ornaments.  You  cannot  get  the  feeling  by  paying  for  it — 
money  will  not  buy  life.  I  am  not  sure  even  that  you  can  get  it  by 
watcliing  or  waiting  for  it.  It  is  true  that  here  and  there  a  workman 
may  be  found  who  has  it  in  him,  but  he  does  not  rest  contented  in 
the  inferior  work — he  struggles  forward  into  an  Academician  ;  and 
from  the  mass  of  available  handicraftsmen  the  power  is  gone — how 
recoverable  I  know  not :  this  only  I  know,  that  all  expense  devoted 
to  sculptural  ornament,  in  the  present  condition  of  that  power,  comes 
literally  under  the  head  of  Sacrifice  for  the  sacrifice's  sake,  or  worse. 
I  beheve  the  only  manner  of  rich  ornament  that  is  open  to  us  is  the 
geometrical  color-mosaic,  and  that  much  might  result  from  our 
strenuously  taking  up  this  mode  of  design.  But,  at  all  events,  one 
thing  we  have  in  our  power — the  doing  without  machine  ornament 
and  cast-iron  work.  All  the  stamped  metals,  and  artificial  stones, 
and  imitation  woods  and  bronzes,  over   the  invention  of  which  iwe 


THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  145 

hear  daily  exultation — all  the  short,  and  cheap,  and  easy  ways  of 
doing  that  whose  difficulty  is  its  honor — are  just  so  many  new 
obstacles  in  our  already  encumbered  road.  They  will  not  make  one 
of  us  happier  or  wiser — they  will  extend  neither  the  pride  of  judgment 
nor  the  privilege  of  enjoyment.  They  will  only  make  us  shallower 
in  our  understandings,  colder  in  our  hearts,  and  feebler  in  our  wits. 
x\nd  most  justly.  For  we  are  not  sent  into  this  world  to  do  any 
thing  into  which  we  cannot  put  our  hearts.  We  have  certain  work 
to  do  for  our  bread,  and  that  is  to  be  done  strenuously ;  other  work 
to  do  for  our  delight,  and  that  is  to  be  done  heartily  :  neither  is  to 
be  done  by  halves  or  shifts,  but  with  a  will ;  and  what  is  not  worth 
this  effort  is  not  to  be  done  at  all.  Perhaps  all  that  we  have  to  do 
is  meant  for  nothing  more  than  an  exercise  of  the  heart  and  of  the 
will,  and  is  useless  in  itself;  but,  at  all  events,  the  little  use  it  has 
may  well  be  spared  if  it  is  not  worth  putting  our  hands  and  our 
strength  to.  It  does  not  become  our  immortality  to  take  an  ease 
inconsistent  wdth  its  authority,  nor  to  suffer  any  instruments  vvith 
which  it  can  dispense,  to  come  between  it  and  the  things  it  rules : 
and  he  who  would  form  the  creations  of  his  own  mind  by  any  other 
instrument  than  his  own  hand,  would,  also,  if  he  might,  give  grinding 
organs  to  Heaven's  angels,  to  make  their  music  easier.  There  is 
dreaming  enough,  and  earthiness  enough,  and  sensuality  enough  in 
human  existence  without  our  turning  the  few  glowing  moments  of  it 
into  mechanism  ;  and  since  our  life  must  at  the  best  be  but  a  vapor 
that  appears  for  a  little  time  and  then  vanishes  away,  let  it  at  least 
appear  as  a  cloud  in  the  height  of  Heaven,  not  as  the  thick  darkness 
that  broods  over  the  blast  of  the  Furnace,  and  rolling  of  the  Wheel. 


y 


en AFTER    VI 


THE  LAMP  OF  MEMORY. 


I.  Among  the  hours  of  his  Hfe  to  which  the  vrnter  looks  back 
\sith  peculiar  gratitude,  as  having  been  marked  by  more  than  ordinary- 
fulness  of  joy  or  clearness  of  teaching,  is  one  jDassed,  now  some  years 
ago,  near  time  of  sunset,  among  the  broken  masses  of  pine  forest 
which  skirt  the  course  of  the  Ain,  above  the  village  of  Champagnole, 
in  the  Jura.  It  is  a  spot  which  has  all  the  solemnity,  with  none  of 
the  savageness,  of  the  Alps  ;  where  there  is  a  sense  of  a  great  power 
beginning  to  be  manifested  in  the  earth,  and  of  a  deep  and  majestic 
concord  in  the  rise  of  the  long  low  lines  of  piny  hills ;  the  first 
utterance  of  those  mighty  mountain  symphonies,  soon  to  be  more 
loudly  lifted  and  wildly  broken  along  the  battlements  of  the  Alps. 
But  their  strength  is  as  yet  restrained ;  and  the  far  reaching  ridges 
of  pastoral  mountain  succeed  each  other,  hke  the  long  and  sighing 
swell  which  moves  over  quiet  waters  from  some  far-off  stormy  sea. 
And  there  is  a  deep  tt^nderness  pervading  that  vast  monotony. 
The  destructive  forces  and  the  stern  expression  of  the  central  ranges 
8X9  alike  withdrawn.  No  frost-ploughed,  dust-encumbered  paths  of 
ancient  glacier  fret  the  soft  Jura  pastures ;  no  splintered  heaps  of 
ruin  break  the  fair  ranks  of  her  forests ;  no  pale,  defiled,  or  furious 
rivers  rend  their  rude  and  changeful  ways  among  her  rocks. 
Patiently,  eddy  by  eddy,  the  clear  green  streams  wind  along  their 
well-known  beds ;  and  under  the  dark  quietness  of  the  undisturbed 
pines,  there  spring  up,  year  by  year,  such  company  of  joyful  flowers 
as  I  know  not  the  like  of  among  all  the  blessings  of  the  earth.  It 
was  Spring  time,  too ;  and  all  were  coming  forth  in  clusters  crowded 
for  very  love ;  there  was  room  enough  for  all,  but  they  crushed  their 
leaves  into  all  manner  of  strange  shapes  only  to  be  nearer  each 
other.  There  was  the  wood  anemone,  star  aft^r  star,  closing  every 
now  and  then  into  nebulae ;  and  theire  was  the  oxaUs,  troop  by  troop, 


THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY.  147 

like  viiginal  processions  of  the  Mois  de  Marie,  the  dark  vertical  clefts 
in  the  limestone  choked  up  ^\^th  them  as  with  heavy  snow,  and 
touched  with  ivy  on  the  edges^ivy  as  hght  and  lovely  as  the  vine; 
and,  ever  and  anon,  a  blue  gush  of  violets,  and  cowshp  bells  in  simny 
places ;  and  in  the  more  open  ground,  the  vetch,  and  comfrey,  and 
mezereon,  and  the  small  sapphire  buds  of  the  Polygala  Alpiiia,  and 
the  wild  strawberry,  just  a  blossom  or  two,  all  showered  amidst  the 
golden  softness  of  deep,  warm,  amber-colored  moss.  I  came  out 
presently  on  the  edge  of  the  ravine :  the  solemn  murmur  of  its 
waters  rose  suddenly  from  beneath,  mixed  with  the  singing  of  the 
thrashes  among  the  pine  boughs ;  and,  on  the  oj^jjosite  side  of  the 
valley,  walled  all  along  as  it  was  by  grey  clifts  of  limestone,  there 
was  a  hawk  sailing  slowly  oft'  their  bruw,  touching  tliem  nearly  with 
his  wings,  and  with  the  shadows  of  the  pines  flickering  upon  his 
l)lumage  from  above  ;  but  with  a  fall  of  a  hundred  fathoms  under 
his  breast,  and  the  curling  pools  of  the  green  river  gliding  and 
glittering  dizzily  beneath  him,  their  foam  globes  moving  with  him 
as  he  flew.  It  would  be  difticult  to  conceive  a  scene  less  dependent 
upon  any  other  interest  than  that  of  its  own  secluded  and  serious 
beauty ;  but  the  writer  w  ell  remembers  the  sudden  blankness  and 
chill  which  were  cast  upon  it  when  he  endeavored,  in  order  more 
strictly  to  arrive  at  the  sources  of  its  impressiveness,  to  imagine  it, 
for  a  moment,  a  scene  in  some  aboriginal  forest  of  the  New  Continent 
The  flowers  in  an  instant  lost  their  light,  the  river  its  music'* ;  the 
hills  became  oppressively  desolate ;  a  heaviness  in  the  boughs  of  the 
darkened  forest  showed  how  much  of  their  former  power  had  been 
dependent  upon  a  life  which  was  not  theirs,  how  much  of  the  i^lory 
of  the  imperishable,  or  continually  renewed,  creation  is  reflected  fiom 
things  more  precious  in  their  memories  than  it,  in  its  renewing. 
Those  ever  springing  flow^ers  and  ever  flowing  streams  had  been 
d}'ed  by  the  deep  colors  of  human  endurance,  valor,  and  virtue  ;  and 
the  crests  of  the  sable  hills  that  rose  against  the  evening  sky  received 
a  deeper  worship,  because  their  far  shadows  fell  eiistward  over  the 
iron  wall  of  Joux  and  the  four-square  keep  of  Granson. 

II.  It  is  as  the  centralisation  and  protectress  of  this  sacred 
influence,  that  Architecture  is  to  be  regarded  by  us  with  the  most 
serious  thought.  We  may  live  without  her,  and  woi-ship  without 
her,  but  w^e  cannot  remember  without  her.  How  cold  is  all  history, 
how  lifeless  all  imagery,  compared  to  that  which   the  living  nation 


.148  THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY. 

writes,  and  the  uncorrupted  marble  bears  !  bow  many  pages  of 
doubtful  record  might  we  no',  often  spare,  for  a  few  stones  left  one 
upon  another  !  The  ambition  of  the  old  Babel  builders  was  well 
directed  for  this  world  :  there  are  but  two  strong  conquerors  of  the 
forgetfulness  of  men.  Poetry  and  Architecture  ;  and  the  latter  in 
some  sort  includes  the  former,  and  is  mightier  in  its  reality  ;  it  is 
A^e.ll  to  have,  not  only  what  men  have  thought  and  felt,  but  what 
their  hands  have  handled,  and  their  strength  ^vrought,  and  their 
eyes  beheld,  all  the  days  of  their  hfe.  The  age  of  Homer  is 
surrounded  with  darkness,  his  very  personality  with  doubt.  Xot  so 
that  of  Pericles  :  and  the  day  is  coming  when  we  shall  confess,  that 
we  have  learned  more  of  Greece  out  of  the  crumbled  fragments  of 
her  sculpture  than  even  from  her  sweet  singers  or  soldier  historians. 
And  if  indeed  there  be  any  profit  in  our  knowledge  of  the  past,  or 
any  joy  in  the  thought  of  being  remembered  hereafter,  which  can 
give  strength  to  present  exertion,  or  patience  to  present  endurance, 
there  are  two  duties  respecting  national  architecture  whose  import- 
ance it  is  impossible  to  overrate  ;  the  first,  to  render  the  architecture 
of  the  day,  historical ;  and,  the  second,  to  preserve,  as  the  most 
precious  of  inheritances,  that  of  past  ages. 

III.  It  is  in  the  first  of  these  two  directions  that  Memory  may 
truly  be  said  to  be  the  Sixth  Lamp  of  Architectm-e  ;  for  it  is  in 
becoming  memorial  or  monumental  that  a  true  perfection  is  attained 
by  civil  and  domestic  buildings  ;  and  this  partly  as  they  are,  with 
such  a  \'iew,  built  in  a  more  stable  manner,  and  partly  as  their 
decorations  are  consequently  animated  by  a  metaphorical  or 
historical  meaning. 

As  regards  domestic  buildings,  there  must  always  be  a  certain 
Hmitation  to  ^iews  of  this  kind  in  the  power,  as  well  as  in  the 
hearts,  of  men  ;  still  I  cannot  but  think  it  an  e\dl  sign  of  a  people 
when  their  houses  are  built  to  last  for  one  generation  only.  There 
is  a  sanctity  in  a  good  man's  house  which  cannot  be  renewed  in 
eveiy  tenement  that  rises  on  its  ruins  :  and  I  believe  that  good  men 
would  generally  feel  this  ;  and  that  ha\ing  spent  their  hves  happily 
and  honorabl3%  they  woidd  be  grieved  at  the  close  of  them  to  think 
that  the  place  of  their  earthly  abode,  which  had  seen,  and  seemed 
almost  to  sympathise  in  all  their  honor,  their  gladness,  or  their 
suffering, — that  tliis,  with  all  the  record  it  bare  of  them,  and  all  of 
material  things  that  they  had  loved  and  ruled  over,   and  set  tha 


THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY.  149 

stamp  of  themselves  upon — was  to  be  swept  away,  f«R  soon  as  there 
was  room*  made  for  them  in  the  grave  ;  that  no  respect  was  to  be 
shown  to  it,  no  affection  felt  for  it,  no  good  to  be  drawn  fi-om  it  by 
their  children  ;  that  though  there  was  a  monument  in  the  church, 
there  was  no  warm  monument  in  the  hearth  and  house  to  them ; 
tliat  all  that  they  ever  treasured  was  despised,  and  the  places  that 
had  sheltered  and  comforted  them  were  dragged  down  to  the  dust. 
I  say  that  a  good  man  would  fear  this  ;  and  that,  far  more,  a  good 
son,  a  noble  descendant,  would  fear  doing  it  to  his  fathers  house. 
I  say  that  if  men  hved  hke  men  indeed,  their  houses  would  be 
temples — temples  which  we  should  hardly  dare  to  injure,  and  in 
which  it  would  make  us  holy  to  be  permitted  to  live  ;  and  there 
must  be  a  strange  dissolution  of  natural  affection,  a  strange 
unthankfulness  for  all  that  homes  have  given  and  parents  taught,  a 
strange  consciousness  that  we  have  been  unfaithful  to  our  fathers' 
honor,  or  that  our  own  lives  are  not  such  as  would  make  our 
dwellings  sacrod  to  our  children,  when  each  man  would  fain  build 
to  himself,  and  build  for  the  little  revolution  of  his  own  life  only. 
And  I  look  upon  those  pitiful  concretions  of  lime  and  clay  which 
spring  up  in  mildewed  forwardness  out  of  the  kneaded  fields  about 
our  capital — upon  those  thin,  tottering,  foundationless  shells  of 
s])lintered  wood  and  imitated  stone — upon  those  gloomy  rows  of 
formahsed  minuteness,  ahke  without  difference  and  without  fellow- 
sliip,  as  solitary  as  similar — not  merely  with  the  careless  disgust  of 
an  offended  eye,  not  merely  vnih.  sorrow  for  a  desecrated  landscape, 
but  A\'ith  a  painful  foreboding  that  the  roots  of  our  national 
greatness  must  be  deeply  cankered  when  they  are  thus  loosely 
struck  in  their  native  ground  ;  that  those  comfortless  and  unhonored 
dwellings  are  the  signs  of  a  great  and  spreading  spirit  of  popular 
discontent ;  that  they  mark  the  time  when  every  man's  aim  is  to  be 
in  some  more  elevated  sphere  than  his  natural  one,  and  every  man's 
past  life  is  his  habitual  scorn  ;  when  mer  build  in  the  hope  of 
leaving  the  places  they  have  built,  and  hve  in  the  hope  of  forgetting 
the  years  that  they  have  hved ;  when  the  comfort,  the  peace,  the 
rehgion  of  home  hflve  ceased  to  be  felt ;  and  the  crowded  tenements' 
of  a  struggling  and  restless  population  differ  only  from  the  touts  of 
the  Arab  or  the  Gipsy  by  their  less  healthy  openness  to  tlie  air  of 
heaven,  and  less  happy   choice  of  their  spot  of  earth  ;    by  theii 


160  THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY. 

sacrifice  of  liberty  without  the  gain  of  rest,  and  of  stability  without 
the  luxury  of  change. 

IV.  This  is  no  slight,  no  consequenceless  evil ;  it  is  ominous, 
infectious,  and  fecund  of  other  fault  and  misfortune.  When  men  do 
not  love  their  hearths,  nor  reverence  their  thresholds,  it  is  a  sign 
that  they  have  dishonored  both,  and  that  they  have  never 
acknowledged  the  true  univei-sality  of  that  Christian  worship  which 
was  indeed  to  supei-sede  the  idolatry,  but  not  the  piety,  of  the  pagan. 
Our  God  is  a  household  God,  as  well  as  a  heavenly  one ;  He  has  an 
altar  in  every  man's  dwelhrig ;  let  men  look  to  it  when  they  rend  it 
hghtly  and  pour  out  its  ashes.  It  is  not  a  question  of  mere  ocular 
dehght,  it  is  no  question  of  intellectual  pride,  or  of  cultivated  and 
critical  fancy,  how,  and  with  what  aspect  of  durabihty  and  of  com- 
pleteness, the  domestic  buildings  of  a  nation  shall  be  raised.  It  is  one 
of  those  moral  duties,  not  with  more  impunity  to  be  neglected 
because  the  perception  of  them  depends  on  a  finely  toned  and 
balanced  conscientiousness,  to  build  our  dwelhngs  with  care,  and 
patience,  and  fondness,  and  diligent  completion,  and  with  a  Niew  to 
their  duration  at  least  for  such  a  period  as,  in  the  ordinary  course 
of  national  revolutions,  might  be  supposed  likely  to  extend  to  the 
entire  alteration  of  the  direction  of  local  interests.  This  at  the 
least ;  but  it  would  be  better  if,  in  every  possible  instance,  men 
built  their  own  houses  on  a  scale  commensurate  rather  with  their 
condition  at  the  commencement,  than  their  attainments  at  the 
termination,  of  their  worldly  career ;  and  built  them  to  stand  ai 
long  as  human  work  at  its  strongest  can  be  hoped  to  stand ; 
recording  to  their  children  what  they  have  been,  and  from  what,  if 
so  it  had  been  permitted  them,  they  had  risen.  And  when  houses 
are  thus  built,  we  may  have  that  true  domestic  architecture,  the 
beginning  of  all  other,  which  does  not  disdain  to  treat  with  respect 
and  thoughtfulness  the  small  habitation  as  well  as  the  large,  and 
which  invests  ^\•ith  the  dignity  of  contented  manhood  the  narrow 
ness  of  worldly  circumstance. 

V.  I  look  to  this  spirit  of  honorable,  proud,  peaceful  self-posses- 
sion, this  abiding  wisdom  of  contented  hfe,  as  probably  one  of  the 
chief  sources  of  great  intellectual  power  in  all  ages,  and  beyond  dis- 
pute as  the  very  primal  source  of  the  great  architecture  of  old  Italy 
and  France.     To  this  day,  the  interest  of  their  fairest  cities  depends, 


THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY.  15] 

not  on  ta-  isolated  richness  of  palaces,  but  on  the  cherished  and 
exquisite-  (l-'coration  of  even  the  smallest  tenements  of  their  proud 
periods.  Jlie  most  elaborate  piece  of  architecture  in  Venice  is  a 
small  hou  .^  at  the  head  of  the  Grand  Canal,  consisting  of  a  ground 
lloor  wiln  two  stories  above,  three  windows  in  the  first,  and  two  in 
the  second.  Many  of  the  most  exquisite  buildings  are  on  the  nar- 
rower cnn-ils,  and  of  no  larger  dimensions.  One  of  the  most  inte- 
resting pi(  ces  of  fifteenth  century  architecture  in  North  Italy,  is  a 
small  ho^i  e  in  a  back  street,  behind  the  market-place  of  Vicenza ;  it 
bears  date  1481,  and  the  motto,  //.  rCest.  rose.  sans.  ^pine. ;  it  has 
also  only  a  ground  floor  and  two  stories,  with  three  \\-indows  in  each, 
separated  by  rich  flower-work,  and  with  balconies,  supported,  the 
central  one  by  an  eagle  with  open  wings,  the  lateral  ones  by  winged 
griffins  standing  on  cornucopiae.  The  idea  that  a  house  must  be 
large  in  order  to  be  well  built,  is  altogether  of  modern  growth,  and 
is  parallel  with  the  idea,  that  no  picture  can  be  historical,  except  of 
a  size  admittinor  florures  larwr  than  hfe. 

VI.  I  would  have,  then,  our  ordinary  dwelling-houses  built  to  last, 
and  built  to  be  lovely ;  as  rich  and  full  of  pleasantness  as  may  be, 
within  and  without ;  with  what  degree  of  hkeness  to  each  other  in 
style  and  manner,  I  will  say  presently,  under  another  head ;  but,  at 
all  events,  with  such  differences  as  might  suit  and  express  each  man's 
character  and  occupation,  and  partly  his  history.  This  right  over 
the  house,  I  conceive,  belongs  to  its  first  builder,  and  is  to  bo 
respected  by  his  children ;  and  it  would  be  well  that  blank  stones 
should  be  left  in  places,  to  be  inscribed  with  a  summary  of  his  life 
and  of  its  experience,  raising  thus  the  habitation  into  a  kind  of  monu- 
ment, and  developing,  into  more  systematic  instructiveness,  that  good 
custom  which  was  of  old  universal,  and  which  still  remains  among 
soi|e  of  the  S^viss  and  Germans,  of  acknowledging  the  grace  of 
Gotl's  permission  to  build  and  possess  a  quiet  resting-place,  in  such 
sweet  words  as  may  well  close  our  speaking  of  these  things.  I  have 
taken  them  from  the  front  of  a  cottage  lately  built  among  the  green 
pastures  which  descend  from  the  NiUage  of  Giindelwald  to  the  lowel 
glacier : — 

"  Mit  herzlichem  Vertraiien 

Hat  Johannes  Mooter  und  Maria  Rubi 

Dieses  Haus  bauen  lassen. 

Der  liebe  Gott  woU  uns  bewahren 

Vor  allem  Ungliick  und  Gefahren, 


152  THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY. 

Und  es  in  Segen  lassen  steha 
Auf  der  Reise  durch  diese  Jammerzeit 
Nach  dem  himmlischen  Paradiese, 
Wo  alle  Frommea  wohnen, 
Da  wird  Gotl  sie  belohnen 
Mit  der  Friedenskrone 
Zu  alle  Ewigkeit." 

VII.  In  public  buildings  the  histx)rical  purpose  should  be  stiL 
more  definite.  It  is  one  of  the  advantages  of  Gc  thic  architecture,— 
I  use  the  word  Gothic  in  the  most  extended  sense  as  broadly  opposed 
to  classical, — that  it  admits  of  a  richness  of  record  altogether  unh- 
mited.  Its  minute  and  multitudinous  sculptural  decorations  aflford 
means  of  expressing,  either  symbolically  or  literally,  all  that  need  be 
known  of  national  feehng  or  achievement.  More  decoration  will, 
indeed,  be  usually  required  than  can  take  so  elevated  a  character ; 
and  much,  even  in  the  most  thoughtful  periods,  has  been  left  to  the 
freedom  of  fancy,  or  suffered  to  consist  of  mere  repetitions  of  some 
national  bearing  or  symbol.  It  is,  however,  generally  unwise,  even 
in  mere  surface  ornament,  to  surrender  the  power  and  privilege  of 
variety  which  the  spirit  of  Gothic  architecture  admits  ;  much  more 
in  important  features — capitals  of  columns  or  bosses,  and  string- 
courses, as  of  course  in  all  confessed  bas-reliefs.  Better  the  rudest 
work  that  tells  a  story  or  records  a  fact,  than  the  richest  without 
meaning.  There  should  not  be  a  single  ornament  put  upon  great 
civic  buildings,  without  some  intellectual  intention.  Actual  repre- 
sentation of  histoiy  has  in  modern  times  been  checked  by  a  difficulty, 
mean  indeed,  but  steadfast :  that  of  unmanageable  costume  ;  never- 
theless, by  a  sufficiently  bold  imaginative  treatment,  and  frank  use 
of  symbols,  all  such  obstacles  may  be  vanquished ;  not  perhaps  in 
the  degree  necessary  to  produce  sculpture  in  itself  satisfactory,  but 
at  all  events  so  as  to  enable  it  to  become  a  grand  and  expressive 
element  of  architectural  composition.  Take,  for  example,  the  ma- 
nagement of  the  capitals  of  the  ducal  palace  at  Venice.  History,  as 
such,  was  indeed  entrusted  to  the  painters  of  its  interior,  but  every 
capital  of  its  arcades  was  filled  with  meaning.  The  large  one,  the 
corner  stone  of  the  whole,  next  the  entrance,  was  devoted  to  the 
symbolisation  of  Abstract  Justice ;  above  it  is  a  sculpture  of  the 
Judgment  of  Solomon,  remarkable  for  a  beautiful  subjection  in  its 
treatment  to  its  decorative  purpose.     The  figures,  if  the  subject  had 


THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY.  ,  153 

been  entirely  composed  of  them,  would  have  awkwai-dly  interrupte(f 
the  hne  of  the  angle,  and  diminished  its  apparent  strength ;  and 
therefore  in  the  midst  of  them,  entirely  without  relation  to  them, 
and  indeed  actually  between  the  executioner  and  interceding  mother, 
there  rises  the  ribbed  trunk  of  a  massy  tree,  which  supports  and 
continues  the  shaft  of  the  angle,  and  whose  leaves  above  overshadow 
and  enrich  the  whole.  The  capitid  below  beai-s  among  its  leafage  a 
throned  figure  of  Justice,  Trajan  doing  justice  to  the  widow,  Aristotle 
"  che  die  legge,"  and  one  or  two  other  subjects  now  unintelligible 
from  decay.  The  capitals  next  in  order  represent  the  virtues  and 
vices  in  succession,  as  preservative  or  destructive  of  national  peace 
and  power,  concluding  with  Faith,  with  the  inscription  "  Fides  optima 
in  Deo  est."  A  figure  is  seen  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  capital, 
worshipping  the  sun.  After  these,  one  or  two  capitals  are  fancifully 
decorated  with  birds  (Plate  V.),  and  then  come  a  series  representing, 
first  the  various  fruits,  then  the  national  costumes,  and  then  the  ani- 
mals of  the  various  countries  subject  to  Venetian  rule. 

VIII.  Xow,  not  to  speak  of  any  more  important  pubhc  building, 
let  us  imagine  our  own  India  House  adorned  in  this  way,  by  his- 
torical or  spnbolical  sculpture  :  massively  built  in  the  fii-st  place ; 
then  chased  with  bas-rehefs  of  our  Indian  battles,  and  fretted  with 
carvings  of  Oriental  fohage,  or  inlaid  with  Oriental  stones ;  and  the 
more  important  members  of  its  decoration  composed  of  groups  of 
Indian  life  and  landscape,  and  prominently  expressing  the  jjliantiisms 
of  Hindoo  worship  in  their  subjection  to  the  Cross.  Would  not  one 
such  work  be  better  than  a  thousand  histories  ?  If,  however,  we 
have  not  the  invention  necessary  for  such  effort^,  or  if,  which  is  pro- 
bably one  of  the  most  noble  excuses  we  can  ofter  tor  our  deficiency 
in  such  matters,  we  have  less  pleasure  in  talking  about  oui-selves, 
even  in  marble,  than  the  Continental  nations,  at  least  we  have  no 
excuse  for  any  want  of  care  in  the  points  which  insure  the  builder's 
endurance.  And  as  this  question  is  one  of  great  interest  in  its  rela- 
tions to  the  choice  of  various  modes  of  decoration,  it  will  be  necessary 
to  enter  into  it  at  some  length. 

IX.  The  benevolent  regards  and  purposes  of  men  in  masses  seldom 
can  be  supposed  to  extend  beyond  their  own  generation.  They  may 
look  to  posterity  as  an  audience,  may  hope  for  its  attention,  and 
labor  for  its  praise :  they  may  trust  to  its  recognition  of  unacknow- 
ledged merit,  and  demand  its  justice  for  contemix>rary  wrong.     Bui 


154  •  THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY. 

all  this  is  mere  selfishness,  and  does  not  involve  tlie  slightest  regard 
to,  or  consideration  of,  the  interest  of  those  by  whose  numbers  we 
would  fain  swell  the  circle  of  our  flatterers,  and  by  whose  authority 
we  would  gladly  support  our  presently  disputed  claims.  The  idea 
of  self-denial  for  the  sake  of  posterity,  of  practising  present  economy 
for  the  sake  of  debtors  yet  unborn,  of  planting  forests  that  our 
descendants  may  hve  under  their  shade,  or  of  raising  cities  for  future 
nations  to  inhabit,  never,  I  suppose,  eflSciently  takes  place  among 
pubhcly  recognised  motives  of  exertion.  Yet  these  are  not  the  les3 
our  duties  ;  nor  is  our  part  fitly  sustained  upon  the  earth,  unless  the 
range  of  our  intended  and  dehberate  usefulness  include  not  only  the 
companions,  but  the  successors,  of  our  pilgrimage.  God  has  lent 
us  the  earth  for  our  life  ;  it  is  a  great  entail.  It  belongs  as  much  to 
those  who  are  to  come  after  us,  and  whose  names  are  already  written 
in  the  book  of  creation,  as  to  us ;  and  we  have  no  right,  by  anything 
that  we  do  or  neglect,  to  involve  them  in  unnecessary  penalties,  or 
deprive  them  of  benefits  which  it  was  in  our  power  to  bequeath. 
And  this  the  more,  because  it  is  one  of  the  appointed  conditions  of 
the  labor  of  men  that,  in  proportion  to  the  time  between  the  seed- 
sowing  and  the  har^'est,  is  the  fulness  of  the  fi"uit ;  and  that  gene- 
rally, therefore,  the  farther  off  we  place  our  aim,  and  the  less  we 
desire  to  be  ourselves  the  "v\'itnesses  of  what  we  have  labored  for,  the 
more  wide  and  rich  will  be  the  measure  of  our  success.  Men  can- 
not benefit  those  that  are  with  them  as  they  can  benefit  those  who 
come  after  them ;  and  of  all  the  pulpits  from  which  human  voice  is 
ever  sent  forth,  there  is  none  from  which  it  reaches  so  far  as  from  the 
grave. 

X.  Nor  is  there,  indeed,  any  present  loss,  in  such  respect  for 
futurity.  Every  human  action  gains  in  honor,  in  grace,  in  all  true 
magnificence,  by  its  regard  to  things  that  are  to  come.  It  is  the  for 
sight,  the  quiet  and  confident  patience,  that,  above  all  other  at- 
tributes, separate  man  ft-om  man,  and  near  him  to  his  Maker ;  and 
there  is  no  action  nor  art,  whose  majesty  we  may  not  measure  by 
this  test.  Therefore,  when  we  build,  let  us  think  that  we  build  for 
ever.  Let  it  not  be  for  present  delight,  nor  for  present  use  alone ; 
let  it  be  such  Avork  as  our  descendants  will  thank  us  for,  and  let  us 
think,  as  we  lay  stone  on  stone,  that  a  time  is  to  come  when  those 
Btones  will  be  held  sacred  because  our  hands  have  touched  them, 
^nd  that  men  will  say  as  they  look  upon  the  labor  and  wrought 


THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY.  155 

substance  of  them,  "  See !  this  our  fathers  did  for  us."  For,  indee(\ 
the  great43st  glory  of  a  building  is  not  in  its  stones,  or  in  its  gold. 
Its  glory  is  in  its  Age,  and  in  that  deep  sense  of  voicefulness,  of 
stern  watching,  of  mysterious  sympathy,  nay,  even  of  approval  or 
condemnation,  which  we  feel  in  walls  that  have  long  been  washed 
by  the  passing  waves  of  humanity.  It  is  in  their  lasting  witness 
against  men,  in  their  quiet  contrast  with  the  transitional  character 
of  all  things,  in  the  strength  which,  through  the  lapse  of  seasons  and 
times,  and  the  decline  and  birth  of  dynasties,  and  the  changing  of  the 
face  of  the  earth,  and  of  the  limits  of  the  sea,  maintains  its  sculptured 
shapehness  for  a  time  insuperable,  connects  forgotten  and  following 
ages  with  each  other,  and  half  constitutes  the  identity,  as  it  concen 
trates  the  sympathy,  of  nations ;  it  is  in  that  golden  stain  of  time, 
that  we  are  to  look  for  the  real  light,  and  color,  and  preciousness  of 
architecture ;  and  it  is  not  until  a  building  has  assumed  this  charac- 
ter, till  it  has  been  entrusted  with  the  fame,  and  hallowed  by  the 
deeds  of  men,  till  its  walls  have  been  witnesses  of  suffering,  and  its 
pillars  rise  out  of  the  shadows  of  death,  that  its  existence,  more 
liisting  as  it  is  than  that  of  the  natural  objects  of  the  world  around 
it,  can  be  gifted  with  even  so  much  as  these  possess  of  language  and 
of  hfe. 

XL  For  that  period,  then,  we  must  build  ;  not,  indeed,  reftising 
to  ourselves  the  dehght  of  present  completion,  nor  hesitating  to 
follow  such  portions  of  character  as  may  depend  upon  delicacy  of 
execution  to  the  highest  perfection  of  which  they  are  capable,  even 
although  we  may  know  that  in  the  course  ofyeare  such  details  must 
perish ;  but  taking  care  that  for  work  of  this  kind  we  sacrifice  no 
enduring  quality,  and  that  the  building  shall  not  de[)end  for  its 
impressiveness  upon  anythmg  that  is  perishable.  This  would, 
indeed,  be  the  law  of  good  composition  under  any  circumstances,  the 
arrangement  of  the  larger  masses  being  always  a  matter  of  greater 
importance  than  the  treatment  of  the  smaller ;  but  in  architectiu-e 
there  is  much  in  that  very  treatment  which  is  skilful  or  otherwise 
in  proportion  to  its  just  regard  to  the  probable  effects  of  time :  and 
(which  is  still  more  to  be  considered)  there  is  a  beauty  in  those 
effects  themselves,  which  nothing  else  can  replace,  and  which  it  is 
our  %visdom  to  consult  and  to  desire.  For  though,  hitherto,  we  have 
been  speaking  of  the  sentiment  of  age  only,  there  is  an  actual 
beauty  in  the  marks  of  it,  such  and  so  great  as  to  have  become  not 


156  THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY. 

unfrequently  the  subject  of  especial  choice  among  certain  schools  of 
art,  and  to  have  impressed  upon  those  schools  the  character  usually 
and  loosely  expressed  by  the  tenii  "  pictm-esque."  It  is  of  some 
importance  to  our  present  purpose  to  determine  the  true  meaning 
of  this  expression,  as  it  is  now  generally  used ;  for  there  is  a  princi' 
pie  to  be  developed  from  that  use  which,  while  it  has  occultly  been 
the  ground  of  much  that  is  true  and  just  in  our  judgment  of  art,  has 
never  been  so  far  understood  as  to  become  definitely  serviceable. 
Probably  no  word  in  the  language  (exclusive  of  theological  expres- 
sions), has  been  the  subject  of  so  frequent  or  so  prolonged  dispute ; 
yet  none  remained  more  vague  in  their  acceptance,  and  it  seems  to 
me  to  be  a  matter  of  no  small  interest  to  investigate  the  essence  of 
that  idea  which  all  feel,  and  (to  appearance)  with  respect  to  similar 
things,  and  yet  wliich  every  attempt  to  define  has,  as  I  believe, 
ended  either  in  mere  enumeration  of  the  effects  and  objects  to  which 
the  term  has  been  attached,  or  else  in  attempts  at  abstraction  more 
palpably  nugatory  than  any  which  have  disgraced  metaphysical 
investigation  on  other  subjects.  A  recent  critic  on  Art,  for  instance, 
has  gravely  advanced  the  theory  that  the  essence  of  the  picturesque 
consists  in  the  expression  of  "  univereal  decay."  It  would  be  curious 
to  see  the  result  of  an  attempt  to  illustrate  this  idea  of  the  pic- 
turesque, in  a  painting  of  dead  flowei's  and  decayed  fruit,  and 
equally  curious  to  trace  the  steps  of  any  reasoning  which,  on  such  a 
theory,  should  account  for  the  picturesqueness  of  an  ass  colt  as 
opposed  to  a  horse  foal.  But  there  is  much  excuse  for  even  the 
most  utter  failure  in  reasonings  of  this  kind,  since  the  subject  is, 
indeed,  one  of  the  most  obscure  of  all  that  may  legitimately  be 
submitted  to  human  reason ;  and  the  idea  is  itself  so  varied  in  the 
minds  of  different  men,  according  to  their  subjects  of  study,  that  no 
definition  can  be  expected  to  embrace  more  than  a  certain  number 
of  its  infinitely  multiplied  forms. 

XII.  That  pecuhar  character,  however,  which  separates  the 
picturesque  from  the  charactei"s  of  subject  belonging  to  the  higher 
walks  of  art  (and  this  is  all  that  it  is  necessary  for  our  present  pur- 
pose to  define),  may  be  shortly  and  decisively  expressed.  Pic- 
turesqueness, in  this  sense,  is  Parasitical  Suhlimity.  Of  course  all 
subUmity,  as  well  as  all  beauty,  is,  in  the  simple  etymological  sense, 
picturesque,  that  is  to  say,  fit  to  become  the  subject  of  a  picture ;  and 
all  sublimity  is,  even  in  the  peculiar  sense  which  I  am  endeavoring 


THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY.  157 

to  develope,  picturesque,  as  opposed  to  beauty ;  that  is  to  say,  tlioM 
is  more  picturesqueness  in  the  sulyect  of  Michael  Angelo  than  of  Peru- 
gino,  in  proportion  to  the  prevalence  of  the  subhme  element  over  tlie 
beautiful.  But  that  character,  of  which  the  extreme  pursuit  is  gene- 
rally admitted  to  be  degrading  to  art,  is  parasitical  subUmity  ;  i.  r,,  a 
sublimity  dependent  on  the  accident,  or  on  the  least  essential  cha- 
racters, of  the  objects  to  Avhich  it  belongs ;  and  the  picturesque  is 
developed  distinctively  exactly  in  proportion  to  the  distance  from  the 
centre  of  thought  of  those  points  of  charax:ter  in  which  the  sublimity 
is  found.  Two  ideas,  therefore,  are  essential  to  picturesc^ueness, — 
the  iirst,  that  of  sublimity  (for  })ure  beauty  is  not  picturesque  at  all, 
and  becomes  so  only  as  the  sublime  element  mixes  with  it),  and  the 
second,  the  subordinate  or  parasitical  position  of  that  sublimity.  Of 
course,  therefore,  whatever  characters  of  line  or  shade  or  expression  are 
})roductive  of  sublimity,  will  become  productive  of  picturesqueness ; 
what  these  characters  are  I  shall  endeavor  hereafter  to  show  at 
length ;  but,  among  those  which  are  generally  acknowledged,  I  may 
name  angular  and  broken  lines,  \igorous  oppositions  of  light  and 
shadow,  and  grave,  deep,  or  boldly  contrasted  color ;  and  all  these 
are  in  a  still  higher  degree  eftective,  when,  by  resemblance  or 
association,  they  remind  us  of  objects  on  which  a  true  and  essential 
sublimity  exist^i,  as  of  rocks  or  mountains,  or  stormy  clouds  or  waves. 
Now  if  these  characters,  or  any  others  of  a  higher  and  more  abstract 
subhmity,  be  found  in  the  very  heart  and  substance  of  what  we 
contemplate,  as  the  sublimity  of  Michael  Angelo  depends  on  the 
expression  of  mental  character  in  his  iigures  far  more  than  even  on 
the  noble  lines  of  their  arrangement,  the  art  which  represents  such 
characters  cannot  be  properly  called  picturesque :  but,  if  they  be 
found  in  the  accidental  or  external  qualities,  the  distinctive  pic- 
turesque will  be  the  result. 

XIII.  Thus,  in  the  treatment  of  the  features  of  the  human  face 
by  Francia  or  Angehco,  the  shadows  are  employed  only  to  make  the 
contours  of  the  features  thoroughly  felt ;  and  to  those  features  them- 
selves the  mind  of  the  observer  is  exclusively  directed  (that  is  to  say, 
to  the  essential  characters  of  the  thing  represented).  All  power 
and  all  sublimity  rest  on  these ;  the  shadows  are  used  only  for  the 
sake  of  the  features.  On  the  contrary,  by  Rembrandt,  Salvator,  or 
Caravaggio,  the  features  are  used /or  the  sake  of  the  shadows  ;  and 
the  attention  is  directed,  and  the  power  of  the  painter  addressed  to 


158  THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY. 

characters  of  accidental  light  and  shade  cast  across  or  around  thosa 
features.  In  the  case  of  Rembrandt  there  is  often  an  essential 
subhmity  in  invention  and  expression  besides,  and  always  a  high 
degree  of  it  in  the  light  and  shade  itself;  but  it  is  for  the  most  part 
parasitical  or  engrafted  sublimity  as  regards  the  subject  of  the 
painting,  and,  just  so  far,  picturesque. 

XIV.  Again,  in  the  management  of  the  sculptures  of  the 
Parthenon,  shadow  is  frequently  employed  as  a  dark  field  on  which 
the  forms  are  drawn.  This  is  visibly  the  case  in  the  metopes,  and 
must  have  been  nearly  as  much  so  in  the  pediment.  But  the  use 
of  that  shadow  is  entirely  to  show  the  confines  of  the  figures  ;  and  it 
is  to  their  lines,  and  not  to  the  shapes  of  the  shadows  behind  tliem^ 
that  the  art  and  the  eye  are  addressed.  The  figures  themselves  are 
conceived  as  much  as  possible  in  full  light,  aided  by  bright  reflections ; 
they  are  drawn  exactly  as,  on  vases,  white  figures  on  a  dark  ground  I 
and  the  sculptors  have  dispensed  with,  or  even  struggled  to  avoid, 
all  shadows  which  were  not  absolutely  necessary  to  the  explaining 
of  the  form.  On  the  contrary,  in  Gothic  sculpture,  the  shadow 
becomes  itself  a  subject  of  thought.  It  is  considered  as  a  dark 
color,  to  be  arranged  in  certain  agreeable  masses ;  the  figures 
are  very  frequently  made  even  subordinate  to  the  placing  of  its 
di^^sions  :  and  their  costume  is  enriched  at  the  expense  of  the  forms 
underneath,  in  order  to  increase  the  complexity  and  variety  of  the 
points  of  shade.  There  are  thus,  both  in  sculpture  and  painting, 
two,  in  some  sort,  o[)posite  schools,  of  which  the  one  follows  for  its 
subject  the  essential  forms  of  things,  and  the  other  the  accidental  lights 
and  shades  upon  them.  There  are  various  degrees  of  their  contra- 
riety :  middle  steps,  as  in  the  works  of  Correggio,  and  all  degrees 
of  nobility  and  of  degradation  in  the  several  manners  :  but  the  one 
is  always  recognised  as  the  pure,  and  the  other  as  the  picturesque 
school.  Portions  of  picturesque  treatment  will  be  found  in  Greek 
work,  and  of  pure  and  unpicturesque  in  Gothic ;  and  in  both  there 
are  countless  instances,  as  pre-eminently  in  the  works  of  Michael 
Angelo,  in  which  shadows  become  valuable  as  media  of  expression^ 
and  therefore  take  rank  among  essential  characteristics.  Into 
these  multitudinous  distinctions  and  exceptions  I  cannot  now  enter^ 
desiring  only  to  prove  the  broad  apphcability  of  the  general 
definition. 

XV,  Again,  the    distinction  will    be  found    to  exist,  not  only 


THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY.  159 

between  forms  and  sliades  as  subjects  of  choice,  but  between  essential 
ajid  inessential  forms.  One  of  the  chief  distinctions  between  the 
dramatic  and  picturesque  schools  of  scul])ture  is  found  in  the  tieat- 
ment  of  the  hair.  13y  the  artists  of  the  time  of  Peiicles  it  was 
considered  as  an  excrescence  ",  indicated  by  few  and  rude  hues,  and 
subordinated  in  every  particular  to  the  principality  of  the  features  and 
person.  How  completely  this  was  an  artistical,  not  a  national  idea, 
it  is  unnecessary  to  prove.  We  need  but  remember  the  emj>lo\Tnent 
of  the  Lacedaemonians,  reported  by  the  Persian  spy  on  the  evening 
before  the  battle  of  ThermopyljB,  or  glance  at  any  Homeric  descrip- 
tion of  ideal  form,  to  see  how  purely  sculpturesque  was  the  law 
which  reduced  the  markings  of  the  hair,  lest,  under  the  necessary 
disadvantages  of  material,  they  should  interfere  with  the  distinctness 
of  the  personal  forms.  On  the  contrary,  in  later  sculpture,  the  hair 
receives  almost  the  principal  care  of  the  workman ;  and  while  the 
features  and  limbs  are  clumsily  and  bluntly  executed,  the  hair  is 
curled  and  twisted,  cut  into  bold  and  shadowy  projections,  and 
arranged  in  masses  elaborately  ornamental  :  there  is  true  sublimity 
in  the  hnes  and  the  chiaroscuro  of  these  masses,  but  it  is,  as  regards 
the  creature  represented,  parasitical,  and  therefore  picturesque.  In 
the  same  sense  we  may  understand  the  application  of  the  term  to 
modern  animal  painting,  distinguished  as  it  has  been  by  peculiar 
attention  to  the  colors,  lustre,  and  texture  of  skin ;  nor  is  it  in  art 
alone  that  the  definition  will  hold.  In  animals  themselves,  when 
their  sublimity  depends  upon  their  muscular  forms  or  motions,  or 
necessary  and  principal  attributes,  as  perhaps  more  than  all  others 
in  the  horse,  we  do  not  call  them  picturesque,  but  consider  them  as 
}>eculiarly  fit  to  be  associated  with  pure  historical  subject.  Exactly 
in  })roportion  as  their  character  of  subUmity  passes  into  excrescences ; 
— into  mane  and  beard  as  in  the  lion,  into  horns  as  in  the  stag,  into 
shaggy  hide  as  in  the  instance  above  given  of  the  ass  colt,  into 
variegation  as  in  the  zebra,  or  into  plumage, — they  btcome  pictu- 
resque, and  are  so  in  art  exactly  in  proportion  to  the  prominence  of 
these  excrescential  characters.  It  may  often  be  most  expedient  that 
they  should  be  prominent ;  often  there  is  in  them  the  highest  degree 
of  majesty,  as  in  those  of  the  leopard  and  boar ;  and  in  the 
hands  of  men  like  Tintoret  and  Rubens,  such  attnbutes  become 
means  of  deepening  the  very  highest  and  most  ideal  impressions. 
But  the  picturesque  direction  of  their  thoughts  is  always  distinctly 


160  THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY. 

recognizable,  as  clinging  to  the  surface,  to  the  less  essendai 
character,  and  as  developing  out  of  this  a  sublimity  different 
from  that  of  the  creature  itself;  a  sublimity  which  is,  in  a  sort, 
common  to  all  the  objects  of  creation,  and  the  same  in  its  constituent 
elements,  whether  it  be  sought  in  the  clefts  and  folds  of  shaggy  hair, 
or  in  the  chasms  and  rents  of  rocks,  or  in  the  hanging  of  thickets  or 
hill  sides,  or  in  the  alternations  of  gaiety  and  gloom  m  the  variegation 
of  the  shell,  the  plume,  or  the  cloud. 

XVI.  Now,  to  return  to  our  immediate  subject,  it  so  happens  that, 
in  architecture,  the  superinduced  and  accidental  beauty  is  most 
commonly  inconsistent  wth  the  preservation  of  orig-inal  character, 
and  the  picturesque  is  therefore  sought  in  ruin,  and  supposed  to 
consist  in  decay.  AVhereas,  even  when  so  sought,  it  consists  in  the 
mere  sublimity  of  the  rents,  or  fractures,  or  stains,  or  vegetation, 
which  assimilate  the  architecture  with  the  work  of  Nature,  and 
bestow  upon  it  those  circumstances  of  color  and  form  which  are 
universally  beloved  by  the  eye  of  man.  So  far  as  this  is  done,  to 
the  extinction  of  the  true  characters  of  the  architecture,  it  is  pictu- 
resque, and  the  artist  who  looks  to  the  stem  of  the  ivy  instead  of 
the  shaft  of  the  pillar,  is  carrying  out  in  more  daring  freedom  the 
debased  sculptor's  choice  of  the  hair  instead  of  the  countenance.  But 
so  far  as  it  can  be  rendered  consistent  with  the  inherent  character, 
the  picturesque  or  extraneous  subhmity  of  architecture  has  just  this 
of  nobler  function  in  it  than  that  of  any  other  object  whatsoever, 
that  it  is  an  exponent  of  age,  of  that  in  which,  as  has  been  said,  the 
greatest  glory  of  a  building  consists ;  and,  therefore,  the  external 
signs  of  this  glory,  having  power  and  purpose  greater  than  any 
belonging  to  their  mere  sensible  beauty,  may  be  considei-ed  as  taking 
rank  among  pure  and  essential  characters ;  so  essential  to  my 
mind,  that  I  think  a  building  cannot  be  considered  as  in  its  prime 
until  four  or  live  centuries  have  passed  over  it ;  and  that  the  entire 
choice  and  arrangement  of  its  details  should  have  reference  to  their 
appearance  after  that  period,  so  that  none  should  be  admitted  which 
would  suffer  material  injury  either  by  the  weather-staining,  or 
the  mechanical  degradation  which  the  lapse  of  such  a  period  would 
necessitate. 

XVII.  It  is  not  my  purpose  to  enter  into  any  of  the  questions 
which  the  application  of  this  principle  invohes.  They  are  of  too 
great  interest  and  complexity  to  be  even  touched  upon  witliin  mj 


THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY.  161 

present  limits,  but  this  is  broadly  to  be  noticed,  that  those  styles  of 
architecture  which  are  picturesque  in  the  sense  alcove  explained  with 
respect  to  sculpture,  that  is  to  say,  whose  decoration  depends  on  the 
an-angement  of  points  of  shade  rather  than  on  purity  of  outline, 
do  not  suffer,  but  commonly  gain  in  richness  of  effect  when  their 
details  are  partly  worn  away ;  hence  such  styles,  pre-eminently  that 
of  French  Gothic,  should  always  be  adopted  when  the  materials  to 
be  employed  are  liable  to  degradation,  as  brick,  sandstone,  or  soft 
limestone  ;  and  styles  in  any  degTce  dependent  on  purity  of  line,  as 
the  Italian  Gothic,  must  be  practised  altogether  in  hard  and  unde- 
composing  materials,  granite  serpentine,  or  crystalline  marbles. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  nature  of  the  accessible  materials 
influenced  the  formation  of  both  styles ;  and  it  should  still  more 
authoritatively  determine  our  choice  of  either. 

XVIII.  It  does  not  belong  to  my  present  plan  to  consider  at 
length  the  second  head  of  duty  of  which  I  have  aljove  spoken ;  the 
preservation  of  the  architecture  we  possess  :  but  a  few  words  may 
be  forgiven,  as  especially  necessary  in  modem  times.  Neither  by 
the  public,  nor  by  those  who  have  the  care  of  pubhc  monuments,  is 
the  true  meaning  of  the  word  restoration  undei-stood.  It  means 
the  most  total  destruction  which  a  building  can  suffer  :  a  destmc- 
tion  out  of  which  no  remnants  can  be  gathered ;  a  destruction 
accompanied  with  false  description  of  the  thing  destroyed.  Do  not 
let  us  deceive  ourselves  in  this  important  matter  ;  it  is  impossible^  as 
impossible  as  to  raise  the  dead,  to  restore  anything  that  has  ever 
been  great  or  beautiful  in  architecture.  Tliat  which  I  ha\e  above 
insisted  upon  as  the  life  of  the  whole,  that  spirit  which  is  given 
only  by  the  hand  and  eye  of  the  workman,  never  can  be  lecalled. 
Another  spirit  may  be  given  by  another  time,  and  it  is  then  a  new 
building ;  but  the  spirit  of  the  dead  workman  cannot  be  summoned 
up,  and  commanded  to  direct  other  hands,  and  other  thoughts. 
And  as  for  direct  and  simple  copying,  it  is  palpably  impossible. 
What  copying  can  there  be  of  surfaces  that  have  been  worn  half  an 
inch  down  ?  The  whole  finish  of  the  work  was  in  the  half  inch 
that  is  gone  ;  if  you  attempt  to  restore  tliat  finish,  you  do  it  conjec- 
turally  ;  if  you  copy  what  is  left,  granting  fidelity  to  be  possible 
(and  what  care,  or  watchfulness,  or  cost  can  secure  it  ?),  how  is  the 
new  work  better  than  the  old  ?  There  was  yet  in  the  old  some  Ufe, 
some  mysterious  suggestion  of  what  it  had  beei,  and  of  wliat  it  had 


162  THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY. 

lost ;  some  sweetness  in  the  gentle  lines  which  raiii  -uid  sun  had 
wrought.  There  can  be  none  in  the  brute  hardnf-?  of  the  new 
car\'ing.  Look  at  the  animals  which  I  have  given  in  Plate  14.,  as 
an  instance  of  h^^ng  work,  and  suppose  the  markings  of  tjie  seniles 
and  hair  once  worn  away,  or  the  wrinkles  of  the  brovv«,  and  who 
shall  ever  restore  them  ?  The  first  step  to  restoration t  (T  have  seen 
it,  and  that  again  and  again,  seen  it  on  the  Baptisterr  <  f  Pisa,  seen 
it  on  the  Casa  d'  C)ro  at  Venice,  seen  it  on  the  Cathedial  of  Lisieux), 
is  to  dash  the  old  work  to  pieces  ;  the  second  is  usually  to  put  up  the 
cheapest  and  basest  imitation  which  can  escape  detection,  but  in  all 
cases,  however  careful,  and  however  labored,  an  imitation  still,  a  cold 
model  of  such  parts  as  can  be  modelled,  with  conjectural  supplements  ; 
and  my  experience  has  as  yet  furnished  me  with  only  one  instance,  that 
of  the  Palais  de  Justice  at  Rouen,  in  which  even  this,  the  utmost  de- 
gree of  fidehty  which  is  possible,  has  been  attained  or  even  attempted. 
XIX.  Do  not  let  us  talk  then  of  restoration.  The  thing  is  a  Lie 
fi'om  beginning  to  end.  You  may  make  a  model  of  a  building  as 
you  may  of  a  corpse,  and  your  model  may  have  the  shell  of  the  old 
walls  within  it  as  your  cast  might  ha\e  the  skeleton,  with  what 
advantage  I  neither  see  nor  care ;  but  the  old  building  is  destroyed, 
and  that  more  totally  and  mercilessly  than  if  it  had  sunk  into  a 
beap  of  dust,  or  melted  into  a  mass  of  clay  :  more  has  been  gleaned 
out  of  desolated  Nineveh  than  ever  will  be  out  of  re-built  Milan. 
But,  it  is  said,  there  may  come  a  necessity  for  restoration !  Granted. 
Look  the  necessity  full  in  the  face,  and  understand  it  on  its  own 
tenns.  It  is  a  necessity  for  destriiction.  Accept  it  as  such,  pull  the 
building  down,  throw  its  stones  into  neglected  corners,  make  ballast 
of  them,  or  mortar,  if  you  vnW  ;  but  do  it  honestly,  and  do  not  set 
up  a  Lie  in  their  place.  And  look  that  necessity  in  the  face  before 
it  comes,  and  you  may  prevent  it.  The  principle  of  modern  times 
(a  principle  which  I  beheve,  at  least  in  France,  to  be  systematically 
acted  on  by  the  masons,  in  order  to  find  themselves  work,  as  the 
abbey  of  St.  Ouen  was  pulled  down  by  the  magistrates  of  the  town 
by  way  of  giving  work  to  some  vagrants.)  is  to  neglect  buildings 
first,  and  restore  them  afterwards.  Take  proper  care  of  your  monu- 
ments, and  you  will  not  need  to  restore  them.  A  few  sheets  of  lead 
put  in  time  upon  the  roof,  a  few  dead  leaves  and  sticks  swept  in 
time  out  of  a  water-course,  will  save  both  roof  and  walls  fi'om  ruin. 
Watch  an  old  building  with  an  anxious  care  ;  guard  it  as  best  you 


THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY.  163 

may,  and  at  any  cost,  from  every  influence  of  dilapidation.  Count 
its  stones  as  you  would  jewels  of  a  crown ;  set  watches  about  it  as 
if  at  the  gates  of  a  besieged  city  ;  bind  it  together  with  iron  where 
it  loosens ;  stay  it  with  timber  where  it  declines ;  do  not  care  about 
the  unsiglitliness  of  the  aid ;  better  a  crutch  than  a  lost  hmb  ;  and 
do  this  tenderly,  and  reverently,  and  continually,  and  many  a  genera- 
tion will  still  be  born  and  pass  away  beneath  its  shadow.  Its  evil 
day  must  come  at  last ;  but  let  it  come  declaredly  and  openly,  and 
let  no  dishonoring  and  false  substitute  deprive  it  of  the  funeral 
offices  of  memory. 

XX.  Of  more  wanton  or  ignorant  ravage  it  is  vain  to  speak  ;  my 
words  will  not  reach  those  who  commit  them,  and  yet,  be  it  heard 
or  not,  I  must  not  leave  the  truth  unstated,  that  it  is  again  no  ques- 
tion of  expediency  or  feeling  whether  we  shall  preserve  the  buildings 
of  past  times  or  not.  We  have  no  right  luhatever  to  touch  them. 
They  are  not  ours.  They  belong  partly  to  those  who  built  them, 
and  partly  to  all  the  generations  of  mankind  who  are  to  follow  us. 
The  dead  have  still  their  right  in  them :  that  which  they  labored 
for,  the  praise  of  achievement  or  the  expression  of  religious  feeling, 
or  whatsoever  else  it  might  be  which  in  those  buildings  they 
intended  to  be  permanent,  we  have  no  right  to  obliterate.  What 
we  have  ourselves  built,  we  are  at  liberty  to  throw  down ;  but  what 
other  men  gave  their  strength  and  wealth  and  life  to  accomplish, 
their  right  over  does  not  pass  away  with  their  death  ;  still  less  is  the 
right  to  the  use  of  what  they  have  left  vested  in  us  only.  It 
belongs  to  all  their  successors.  It  may  hereafter  be  a  subject  of 
sorrow,  or  a  cause  of  injury,  to  millions,  that  we  have  consulted  our 
present  convenience  by  casting  down  such  buildings  as  we  choase  to 
dispense  with.  That  sorrow,  that  loss  we  have  no  right  to  inflict. 
Did  the  cathedral  of  Avranches  belong  to  the  mob  who  destroyed 
it,  any  more  than  it  did  to  us,  who  walk  in  sorrow  to  and  fro  over 
its  foundation  ?  Neither  does  any  building  whatever  belong  to  those 
mobs  who  do  violence  to  it.  For  a  mob  it  is,  and  must  be  always  ; 
it  matters  not  whether  enraged,  or  in  deliberate  folly ;  whether 
countless,  or  sitting  in  committees  ;  the  people  who  destroy  anything 
causelessly  are  a  mob,  and  Architecture  is  always  destroyed  cause- 
lessly. A  fair  building  is  necessarily  worth  the  ground  it  stands 
upon,  and  will  be  so  until  central  Afiica  and  America  shall  have 
become  as  populous  as  Middlesex ;  nor  is  any  cause  whatever  vdid 


if64  THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY. 

as  a  ground  for  its  destruction.  If  ever  valid,  certainly  not  now 
when  the  place  both  of  the  past  and  future  is  too  much  usurped  in 
our  minds  by  the  restless  and  discontented  present.  The  very 
quietness  of  nature  is  gradually  withdrawn  from  us  ;  thousands  who 
once  in  their  necessarily  prolonged  travel  were  subjected  to  an 
influence,  from  the  silent  sky  and  slumbering  fields,  more  effectual 
than  known  or  confessed,  now  bear  with  them  even  there  the  cease- 
less fever  of  their  life  ;  and  along  the  iron  veins  that  traverse  the  frame 
of  our  country,  beat  and  flow  the  fiery  pulses  of  its  exertions,  hotter 
and  faster  every  hour.  All  \itahty  is  concentrated  through  those 
throbbing  arteries  into  the  central  cities ;  the  country  is  passed  o\'er 
like  a  green  sea  by  narrow  bridges,  and  we  are  thrown  back  in  con- 
tinually closer  crowds  upon  the  city  gates.  The  only  influence 
which  can  in  any  wise  there  take  the  place  of  that  of  the  woods  and 
fields,  is  the  power  of  ancient  Architecture.  Do  not  part  \^ith  it  for 
the  sake  of  the  formal  square,  or  of  the  fenced  and  planted  walk,  nor 
of  the  goodly  street  nor  opened  quay.  The  pride  of  a  city  is  not  in 
these.  Leave  them  to  the  crowd  ;  but  remember  that  there  will 
surely  be  some  within  the  circuit  of  the  disquieted  walls  who  would 
ask  for  some  other  spots  than  these  wherein  to  walk ;  for  some  other 
forms  to  meet  their  sight  famiharly :  hke  him  who  sat  so  often 
where  the  sun  struck  from  the  west,  to  watch  the  lines  of  the  dome 
of  Florence  drawn  on  the  deep  sky,  or  like  those,  his  Hosts,  who 
could  bear  daily  to  behold,  from  their  palace  chambers,  the  places 
where  their  fathers  lay  at  rest,  at  the  meeting  of  the  dark  streets  of 
Verona. 


CH  A  PTER    VII. 

THE      LAMP      OF      OBEDIENCE. 

I.  It  has  been  my  endeavor  to  show  in  the  preceding  pages  ho\* 
every  form  of  noble  architecture  is  in  some  sort  tlie  embodiment  of 
the  PoHty,  Life,  History,  and  Rehgious  Faith  of  nations.  Once  or 
twice  in  doing  tliis,  I  have  named  a  principle  to  which  I  would  now 
assign  a  definite  place  among  those  which  direct  that  embodiment ; 
the  last  place,  not  only  as  that  to  which  its  own  humility  would 
incline,  but  rather  as  belonging  to  it  in  the  aspect  of  the  crownincy 
grace  of  all  the  rest :  that  principle,  I  mean,  to  which  Polity  owes 
its  stability,  Life  its  happiness,  Faith  its  acceptance.  Creation  its  con- 
tinuance,— Obedience. 

Nor  is  it  the  least  among  the  sources  of  movQ  serious  satisfaction 
which  I  have  found  in  the  pui-suit  of  a  subject  that  at  fiist  ajtpeared 
to  bear  but  slightly  on  the  grave  interests  of  mankind,  that  the  con- 
ditions of  material  perfection  which  it  leads  me  in  conclusion  to 
consider,  furnish  a  strange  proof  how  false  is  the  conception,  how 
frantic  the  pursuit,  of  that  treacherous  phantom  which  men  call 
Liberty  :  most  treacherous,  indeed,  of  all  phantoms  ;  for  the  tl-ebiest 
ray  of  reason  might  surely  show  us,  that  not  only  its  attainment, 
but  its  being,  was  impossible.  There  is  no  such  thing  in  the  uni- 
verse. There  can  never  be.  The  stai-s  have  it  not ;  the  earth  lias  it 
not ;  the  sea  has  it  not ;  and  we  men  have  the  mockery  and  sem- 
blance of  it  only  for  our  heaviest  punishment. 

In  one  of  the  noblest  poems'"  for  its  unagery  and  its  music  belong- 
ng  to  the  recent  school  of  our  hterature,  the  writer  has  sought  in 
the  aspect  of  inanimate  nature  the  expression  of  that  Liberty  which, 
having  once  loved,  he  Inid  seen  among  men  in  its  true  dyes  of  dark- 
ness. But  with  what  strange  tallacy  of  in terpre tuition  !  since  in  one 
noble  line  of  his  invocation  he  has  contradicted  the  assumptions  of 
the  rest,  and  acknowledged  the  presence  of  a  subjection,  surely  not 
less  severe  because  eternal  ?     How  could  he  otherwise  ?  since  if  there 


166  THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE. 

be  any  one  principle  more  -wddely  than  another  confessed  by  every 
utterance,  or  more  sternly  than  another  imprinted  on  every  atom,  of 
the  visible  creation,  that  principle  is  not  Liberty,  but  Law. 

n.  The  enthusiast  would  reply  that  by  Liberty  he  meant  the  Law 
of  Liberty.  Then  why  use  the  single  and  misunderstood  word  ?  If 
by  liberty  you  mean  chastisement  of  the  passions,  discipline  of  the 
intellect,  subjection  of  the  will ;  if  you  mean  the  fear  of  inflicting,  the 
shame  of  committing,  a  wrong ;  if  you  mean  respect  for  all  who  are 
in  authority,  and  consideration  for  all  who  are  in  dependence ;  vene- 
ration for  the  good,  mercy  to  the  evil,  sympathy  with  the  weak ;  if 
you  mean  watchfulness  over  all  thoughts,  temperance  in  all  pleasures, 
and  perseverance  in  all  toils ;  if  you  mean,  in  a  word,  that  Ser\ice 
which  is  defined  in  the  liturgy  of  the  English  church  to  be  perfect 
Freedom,  why  do  you  name  this  by  the  same  word  by  which  the 
luxurious  mean  license,  and  the  reckless  mean  change;  by  which 
the  rogue  means  rapine,  and  the  fool,  equahty,  by  which  the  proud 
mean  anarchy,  and  the  malignant  mean  violence  ?  Call  it  by  any 
name  rather  than  this,  but  its  best  and  truest  is.  Obedience.  Obe- 
dience is,  indeed,  founded  on  a  kind  of  freedom,  else  it  would  become 
mere  subjugation,  but  that  freedom  is  only  granted  that  obedience 
may  be  more  perfect ;  and  thus,  while  a  measure  of  license  is  neces- 
sary to  exhibit  the  indi\idual  energies  of  things,  the  fairness  and 
pleasantness  and  perfection  of  them  all  consist  in  their  Restraint. 
Compare  a  river  that  has  burst  its  banks  with  one  that  is  bound  by 
them,  and  the  clouds  that  are  scattered  over  the  face  of  the  whole 
heaven  with  those  that  are  marshalled  into  ranks  and  orders  by  its 
winds.  So  that  though  restraint,  utter  and  unrelaxing,  can  never  be 
comely,  this  is  not  because  it  is  in  itself  an  evil,  but  only  because, 
when  too  great,  it  overpowei-s  the  nature  of  the  thing  restrained,  and 
so  counteracts  the  other  laws  of  which  that  nature  is  itself  composed. 
And  the  balance  wherein  consists  the  fairness  of  creation  is  between 
the  laws  of  life  and  being  in  the  things  governed  and  the  laws  of 
general  sw^ay  to  which  they  are  subjected ;  and  the  suspension  or 
infringement  of  either  kind  of  law,  or,  hterally,  disorder,  is  equivalent 
to,  and  synon}Tnous  with,  disease ;  while  the  increase  of  both  honor 
and  beauty  is  habitually  on  the  side  of  restraint  or  the  action  of  supe- 
rior law)  rather  than  of  character  (or  the  action  of  inherent  law).  The 
noblest  word  in  the  catalogue  of  social  N-irtue  is  "Loyalty,"  and  the  sweet- 
est "which  men  have  learned  in  the  pastures  of  the  wilderness  is  "  Fold." 


THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCK.  167 

in.  Nor  is  this  all ;  but  we  may  observe,  that  exactly  in  propor- 
tion to  the  majesty  of  things  in  the  scale  of  being,  is  the  complete- 
ness of  their  obedience  to  the  laws  that  are  set  over  them.  Gran- 
tation  is  less  quietly,  less  instantly  obeyed  by  a  grain  of  dust  than  it 
is  by  the  sun  and  moon ;  and  the  ocean  falls  and  flows  under  influ- 
ences which  the  lake  and  river  do  not  recognise.  So  also  in  esti- 
mating the  dignity  of  any  action  or  occupation  of  men,  there  is 
perhaps  no  better  test  than  the  question  "  are  its  laws  strait  ?"  For 
their  severity  will  probably  be  commensurate  with  the  greatness  of 
the  numbers  whose  labor  it  concentrates  or  whose  interest  it  concerns. 

This  severity  must  be  singular,  therefore,  in  the  case  of  that  art, 
above  all  others,  whose  productions  are  the  most  vast  and  the  most 
common ;  which  requires  for  its  practice  the  co-operation  of  bodies 
of  men,  and  for  its  perfection  the  perseverance  of  successive  genera- 
tions. And  taking  into  account  also  what  we  have  before  so  often 
observed  of  Architecture,  her  continual  influence  over  the  emotions 
of  daily  life,  and  her  realism,  as  opposed  to  the  two  sister  arts  which 
are  in  comparison  but  the  picturing  of  stories  and  of  di-eams,  we 
might  beforehand  expect  that  we  should  find  her  healthy  state  and 
action  dependent  on  far  more  severe  laws  than  theii-s  :  that  the 
license  which  they  extend  to  the  workings  of  indindual  mind  would 
be  withdrawn  by  her ;  and  that,  in  assertion  of  the  relations  which 
she  holds  with  all  that  is  universally  important  to  man,  she  would  set 
forth,  by  her  own  majestic  subjection,  some  likeness  of  that  on  wliich 
man's  social  happiness  and  power  depend.  We  might,  therefore, 
without  the  light  of  experience,  conclude,  that  Architecture  never 
could  flourish  except  when  it  was  subjected  to  a  national  law  as  strict 
and  as  minutely  authoritative  as  the  laws  which  regulate  religion, 
policy,  and  social  relations  ;  nay,  even  more  authoritative  than  these, 
because  both  capable  of  more  enforcement,  as  over  more  passive 
matter  ;  and  needing  more  enforcement,  as  the  purest  type  not  of 
one  law  nor  of  another,  but  of  the  common  authority  of  all.  But 
in  this  matter  experience  speaks  more  loudly  than  reason.  If  there 
be  any  one  condition  which,  in  watching  the  progress  of  architec- 
ture, we  see  distinct  and  general;  if,  amidst  the  counter  e%idence  of 
success  attending  opposite  accidents  of  character  and  circumstance, 
i.i\y  one  conclusion  may  be  constantly  and  indisputably  drawn,  it  is 
this ;  tliat  the  architecture  of  a  nation  is  great  only  when  it  is  aa 
universal  aT-d  ;is  established  as  its  language;  and  when  provincial 


168  THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE. 

differences  of  style  are  nothing  more  than  so  many  dialects.  Other 
necessities  are  mattere  of  doubt :  nations  have  been  ahke  successful 
in  their  architecture  in  times  of  poverty  and  of  wealth ;  in  times  of 
war  and  of  peace ;  in  times  of  barbarism  and  of  refinement ;  undei 
governments  the  most  liberal  or  the  most  arbitrary ;  but  this  one 
condition  has  been  constant,  this  one  requirement  clear  in  all  places 
and  at  all  times,  that  the  woi'k  shall  be  that  of  a  school^  that  no  indi- 
vidual caprice  shall  dispense  with,  or  materially  vary,  accepted  types 
and  customary  decorations ;  and  that  fi'om  the  cottage  to  the  palace, 
and  from  the  chapel  to  the  basilica,  and  from  the  garden  fence  to 
the  fortress  wall,  every  member  and  feature  of  the  architecture  of  the 
nation  shall  be  as  commonly  cm-rent,  as  frankly  accepted,  as  its  lan- 
guage or  its  coin. 

IV.  A  day  never  passes  ■v^^thout  our  hearing  our  Enghsh  archi- 
tects called  upon  to  be  original,  and  to  invent  a  new  style  :  about  as 
sensible  and  necessary  an  exhortation  as  to  ask  of  a  man  who  has 
never  had  rags  enough  on  his  back  to  keep  out  cold,  to  invent  a  new 
mode  of  cutting  a  coat.  Give  him  a  whole  coat  fii-st,  and  let  him 
concern  himself  about  the  fashion  of  it  afterwards.  We  want  no 
new  style  of  architecture.  Who  wants  a  new  style  of  painting  or 
sculpture  ?  But  we  want  sonu  style.  It  is  of  marvellously  little 
importance,  if  we  have  a  code  of  laws  and  they  be  good  laws, 
"whether  they  be  new  or  old,  foreign  or  native,  Roman  or  Saxon,  or 
Nonnan  or  English  laws.  But  it  is  of  considerable  importance  that 
we  should  have  a  code  of  laws  of  one  kind  or  another,  and  that  code 
accepted  and  enforced  from  one  side  of  the  island  to  another,  and 
not  one  law  made  ground  of  judgment  at  York  and  another  in 
Exeter.  And  in  like  manner  it  does  not  matter  one  marble  sphnter 
whether  we  have  an  old  or  new  architecture,  but  it  matters  every- 
tliing  whether  we  have  an  architecture  truly  so  called  or  not ;  that 
is,  whether  an  architecture  whose  laws  might  be  taught  at  our 
schools  from  Cornwall  to  Northumberland,  as  we  teach  English 
spelling  and  English  grammar,  or  an  architecture  which  is  to  be 
invented  fresh  every  time  we  build  a  workhouse  or  a  parish  school. 
There  seems  to  me  to  be  a  wonderfril  misunderstanding  among  the 
majority  of  architects  at  the  present  day  as  to  the  very  nature  and 
meaning  of  Originality,  and  of  all  wherein  it  consists.  Originahty 
in  expression  does  not  depend  on  invention  of  new  words  ;  nor  origi- 
nality in  poetry  on  invention  of  new  measures  ;  nor,  in  painting,  on 


THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE.  169 

invention  of  new  colors,  or  new  modes  of  using  them.  The  chords 
of  music,  the  harmonies  of  color,  the  general  principles  of  the 
arrangement  of  sculptural  masses,  have  been  determined  long  ago, 
and,  in  all  probabihty,  cannot  be  added  to  any  more  than  they  can  be 
altered.  Granting  that  they  may  be,  such  additions  or  alterations 
are  much  more  the  work  of  time  and  of  multitudes  than  of  indivi- 
dual inventors.  We  may  have  one  Van  Eyck,  who  will  be  known 
as  the  introducer  of  a  new  style  once  in  ten  centuries,  but  he  him- 
self will  trace  his  invention  to  some  accidental  bye-play  or  pursuit ; 
and  the  use  of  that  invention  will  depend  altogether  on  the  popular 
necessities  or  instincts  of  the  period.  Originality  depends  on  nothing 
of  the  kind.  A  man  who  has  the  gift,  will  take  up  any  style  that  is 
going,  the  style  of  his  day,  and  wiW  work  in  that,  and  be  great  in 
that,  and  make  everything  that  he  does  in  it  look  as  fresh  as  if  every 
thought  of  it  had  just  come  down  from  heaven.  I  do  not  say  that 
he  will  not  take  liberties  with  his  materials,  or  with  his  rules :  I  do 
not  say  that  strange  changes  will  not  sometimes  be  wrought  by  his 
efforts,  or  his  fancies,  in  both.  But  those  changes  will  be  instruc- 
tive, natural,  facile,  though  sometimes  marvellous ;  they  will  never  be 
sought  after  as  things  necessary  to  his  dignity  or  to  his  independence ; 
and  those  hberties  \^'ill  be  like  the  liberties  that  a  great  speaker  takes 
with  the  language,  not  a  defiance  of  its  rules  for  the  sake  of  singu- 
larity ;  but  ine\'itable,  uncalculated,  and  brilliant  consequences  of  an 
effort  to  express  what  the  language,  without  such  infraction,  could 
not.  There  may  be  times  when,  as  I  have  above  described,  the  hfe 
of  an  art  is  manifested  in  its  changes,  and  in  its  refusal  of  ancient 
limitations  :  so  there  are  in  the  life  of  an  insect ;  and  there  is  great 
interest  in  the  state  of  both  the  art  and  the  insect  at  those  periods 
when,  by  their  natural  progress  and  constitutional  power,  such 
changes  are  about  to  be  wrought.  But  as  that  would  be  both  an 
uncomfortable  and  foolish  caterpillar  which,  instead  of  being  con- 
tented with  a  caterpillar's  life  and  feechng  on  caterpillar's  food,  was 
always  striving  to  turn  itself  into  a  chrysalis ;  and  as  that  would  be 
an  unhappy  chrysalis  which  should  lie  awake  at  night  and  roll  rest- 
lessly in  its  cocoon,  in  efforts  to  turn  itself  prematurely  into  a  moth ; 
so  vriW  that  art  be  unhappy  and  unprosperous  which,  instead  of  sup- 
porting itself  on  the  food,  and  contenting  itself  ^\^th  the  customs 
which  have  been  enough  for  the  support  and  guidance  of  other 
arts  before  it  and  like  it,  is  struggling  and  fretting  un  ier  the  natural 


170  THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE. 

limitations  of  its  existence,  and  stri\-ing  to  become  something  otlief 
than  it  is.  And  though  it  is  the  nobility  of  the  highest  creatures  to 
look  forward  to,  and  partly  to  understand  the  changes  which  are 
appointed  for  them,  preparing  for  them  beforehand ;  and  i1^  as  is 
usual  with  appointed  changes,  they  be  into  a  higher  state,  even 
desiring  them,  and  rejoicing  in  the  hope  of  them,  yet  it  is  the 
strength  of  every  creature,  be  it  changeful  or  not,  to  rest  for  the 
time  being,  contented  w  ith  the  conditions  of  its  existence,  and  striving 
only  to  bring  about  the  changes  w^hich  it  desires,  by  fulfilling  to  the 
uttermost  the  duties  for  which  its  present  state  is  appointed  and 
contmued. 

V.  Neither  originality,  therefore,  nor  change,  good  though  both 
may  be,  and  this  is  commonly  a  most  merciful  and  enthusiastic 
supposition  Tvith  respect  to  either,  are  ever  to  be  sought  in  themselves, 
or  can  ever  be  healthily  obtained  by  any  struggle  or  rebellion  against 
common  laws.  We  want  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  Tlie  forms 
of  architecture  aheady  knowTi  are  good  enough  for  us,  and  for  far 
better  than  any  of  us :  and  it  will  be  time  enough  to  think  of 
changing  them  for  better  when  w^e  can  use  them  as  they  are.  But 
there  are  some  things  which  we  not  only  w^ant,  but  cannot  do  ^vithout ; 
and  which  all  the  struggling  and  ra^^ng  in  the  world,  nay  more, 
which  all  the  real  talent  and  resolution  in  England,  will  never  enable 
us  to  do  without :  and  these  are  Obedience,  Unity,  Fellowship  and 
Order.  And  all  our  schools  of  design,  and  committees  of  taste ; 
all  our  academies  and  lectures,  and  journalisms,  and  essays ;  all  the 
sacrifices  which  we  are  beginning  to  make,  all  the  truth  which  there 
is  in  our  English  nature,  all  the  power  of  our  English  will,  and  the 
hfe  of  our  Enghsh  intellect,  ^vill  in  this  matter  be  as  useless  as  efibrts 
and  emotions  in  a  dream,  unless  w^e  are  contented  to  submit  archi- 
tecture and  all  art,  like  other  things,  to  English  law. 

VI.  I  say  architecture  and  all  art ;  for  I  beheve  architecture  must 
be  the  beginning  of  arts,  and  that  the  others  must  follow  her  in  their 
time  and  order ;  and  I  think  the  prosperity  of  our  schools  of  painting 
and  sculpture,  in  which  no  one  will  deny  the  life,  though  many  the 
health,  depends  upon  that  of  our  architectui-e.  I  think  that  all  will 
languish  until  that  takes  the  lead,  and  (this  I  do  not  thin'n,^  out  I 
proclaim,  as  confidently  as  I  would  assert  the  necessity,  for  the  safety 
of  society,  of  an  understood  and  strongly  administered  legal  govern- 
ment) our  architecture  tvill  languish,  and  that  in  the  very  dust,  until 


THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE.  l7l 

the  first  principle  of  common  sense  be  manfully  obeyed,  and  an 
universal  system  of  form  and  workmanship  be  everywhere  adopted 
and  enforced.  It  may  be  said  that  this  is  impossible.  It  may  be  so — • 
I  fear  it  is  so  :  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  possibility  or  impossi- 
bihty  of  it ;  I  simply  know  and  assert  the  necessity  of  it.  If  it  be 
impossible,  English  art  ls  impossible.  Give  it  up  at  once.  You  are 
wasting  time,  and  money,  and  energy  upon  it,  and  though  you 
exhaust  centuries  and  treasuries,  and  break  hearts  for  it,  you  will 
never  raise  it  above  the  merest  dilettanteism.  Think  not  of  it.  It 
is  a  dangerous  vanity,  a  mere  gulph  in  which  genius  after  genius 
will  be  swallowed  up,  and  it  will  not  close.  And  so  it  will  continue 
to  be,  unless  the  one  bold  and  broad  step  be  taken  at  the  beginning. 
We  shall  not  manufacture  art  out  of  pottery  and  printed  stuffs  ;  we 
shall  not  reason  out  art  by  our  philosophy  ;  we  shall  not  stumble  upon 
art  by  our  experiments,  nor  create  it  by  our  fancies :  I  do  not  say 
that  we  can  even  build  it  out  of  brick  and  stone  ;  but  there  is 
a  chance  for  us  in  these,  and  there  is  none  else  ;  and  that  chance 
rests  on  the  bare  possibility  of  obtaining  the  consent,  both  of  archi- 
tects and  of  the  pubhc,  to  choose  a  style,  and  to  use  it  univei-sally. 

VII.  How  surely  its  principles  ought  at  first  to  be  limited,  we 
may  easily  determine  by  the  consideration  of  the  necessary  modes 
of  teaching  any  other  branch  of  general  knowledge.  When  we 
beg-in  to  teach  children  writing,  we  force  them  to  absolute 
copyism,  and  require  absolute  accuracy  in  the  formation  of  the  letters  • 
as  they  obtain  command  of  the  received  modes  of  hteral  expression, 
we  '"'^L.^ol  prevent  their  falling  into  such  variations  as  are  consistent 
with  their  feehng,  their  circumstances,  or  their  characters.  So,  when 
a  boy  is  first  taught  to  write  Latin,  an  authority  is  required  of  him 
for  every  expression  he  uses  ;  as  he  becomes  master  of  the  languag<^  he 
may  take  a  hcense,  and  feel  his  right  to  do  so  without  any  autliority, 
and  yet  write  better  Latin  than  when  he  borrowed  every  separate 
expression.  In  the  same  way  our  architects  would  have  to  be  taught 
to  write  the  accepted  style.  We  must  first  determine  what  buildings 
are  to  be  considered  Augustan  in  their  authority  ;  their  modes  of 
consti'uction  and  laws  of  proportion  are  to  be  studied  witli  the  most 
penetrating  care ;  then  the  different  forms  and  uses  of  their  decora- 
tions are  to  be  classed  and  catalogued,  as  a  German  grammarian 
classes  the  powers  of  prepositions  ;  and  under  this  absolute,  irrefra- 
gable authority,  we  are  to  begin  to  work  ;    admitting  not  so  much 


1*12  THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE. 

as  an  alferation  in  the  depth  of  a,  cavetto,  or  the  breadth  of  a  fiUeti 
Then,  when  our  sight  is  once  accustomed  to  the  grammatical  forms 
and  arrangements,  and  our  thoughts  famihar  with  the  expression  of 
them  all ;  when  we  can  speak  this  dead  language  natm-ally,  and  apply 
it  to  whatever  ideas  we  have  to  render,  that  is  to  say,  to  every  practical 
purpose  of  life  ;  then,  and  not  till  then,  a  license  might  be  permitted ; 
and  individual  authority  allowed  to  change  or  to  add  to  the  received 
forms,  always  \^ithin  certain  hmits  ;  the  decorations,  especially,  might 
be  made  subjects  of  variable  fancy,  and  enriched  with  ideas  either 
original  or  taken  from  other  schools.  And  thus  in  process  of  time 
and  by  a  great  national  movement,  it  might  come  to  pass,  that  a 
new  style  should  arise,  as  language  itself  changes ;  we  might  perhaps 
come  to  speak  Itahan  instead  of  Latin,  or  to  speak  modern  instead 
of  old  Enghsh ;  but  this  would  be  a  matter  o£  entire  indifference, 
and  a  matter,  besides,  which  no  determination  or  desire  could  either 
hasten  or  prevent.  That  alone  which  it  is  in  our  power  to  obtain, 
and  which  it  is  our  duty  to  desire,  is  an  unanimous  style  of  some 
kind,  and  such  comprehension  and  practice  of  it  as  would  enable  us 
to  adapt  its  features  to  the  pecuhar  character  of  every  several 
building,  large  or  small,  domestic,  civil,  or  ecclesiastical.  I  have  said 
that  it  was  immaterial  what  style  was  adopted,  so  far  as  regards  the 
room  for  originahty  which  its  development  would  admit :  it  is  not 
so,  however,  w^hen  we  take  into  consideration  the  far  more  important 
questions  of  the  facility  of  adaptation  to  general  purposes,  and  of 
the  sympathy  -vvith  which  this  or  that  style  would  be  popularly 
regarded.  The  choice  of  Classical  or  Gothic,  again  using  tne  !r.*^^r 
term  in  its  broadest  sense,  may  be  questionable  when  it  regards  some 
single  and  considerable  public  building ;  but  I  cannot  conceive  it 
questionable,  for  an  instant,  when  it  regards  modern  uses  in  general : 
I  cannot  conceive  any  architect  insane  enough  to  project  the  vulgari- 
zation of  Greek  architecture.  Neither  can  it  be  rationally  questionable 
whether  we  should  adopt  early  or  late,  original  or  derivative  Gothic : 
if  the  latter  were  chosen,  it  must  be  either  some  impotent  and  ugly 
degi-adation,  like  our  own  Tudor,  or  else  a  style  whose  grammatical 
laws  it  would  be  nearly  impossible  to  hmit  or  an-ange,  like  the  French 
Flamboyant.  We  are  equally  precluded  from  adopting  styles  essen- 
tially infantine  or  barbarous,  however  Herculean  their  infancy,  or 
majestic  their  outlawry,  such  as  our  own  Norman,  or  the  Lombard 
Romanesque.     The  choice  would  lie  I  think  between  four  styles  :— 


THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE.  17^ 

1.  The  Pisan  Romanesque;  2.  The  early  Gothic  of  the  Western 
Itahan  Kepubhcs,  advanced  as  far  and  as  fast  as  our  art  would  enable 
us  to  the  Gothic  of  Giotto ;  3.  The  Venetian  Gothic  in  its  purest 
development ;  4.  The  English  earhest  decorated.  The  most  natural, 
perhaps  the  safest  choice,  would  be  of  the  last,  well  fenced  from 
chance  of  again  stiffening  into  the  perpendicular ;  and  perhaps 
enriched  by  some  minghng  of  decorative  elements  from  the  exquisite 
decorated  Gothic  of  France,  of  which,  in  such  cases,  it  would  be 
needful  to  accei)t  some  well  known  examples,  as  the  iS'orth  door  of 
Rouen  and  the  church  of  St.  Urbain  at  Troyes,  for  final  and  limiting 
authorities  on  the  side  of  decoration. 

VIII.  It  is  almost  impossible  for  us  to  conceive,  in  our  present 
state  of  doubt  and  ignorance,  the  sudden  dawn  of  intelligence  and 
fancy,  the  rapidly  increasing  sense  of  power  and  focility,  and,  in  its 
proper  sense,  of  Freedom,  which  such  wholesome  restraint  would 
instantly  cause  throughout  the  whole  circle  of  the  arts.  Freed  from 
the  agitation  and  embarrassment  of  that  hberty  of  choice  which  is 
the  cause  of  half  the  discomforts  of  the  world;  freed  from  the 
accompanying  necessity  of  studying  all  past,  present,  or  even 
possible  styles;  and  enabled,  by  concentration  of  individual,  and 
co-operation  of  multitudinous  energy,  to  penetrate  into  the  uttermost 
secrets  of  the  adopted  style,  the  architect  would  find  his  whole 
understanding  enlarged,  his  practical  knowledge  certain  and  ready 
to  hand,  and  his  imagination  playful  and  ^^gorous,  Jis  a  child's  would 
be  within  a  walled  garden,  who  would  sit  down  and  shudder  if  he 
were  left  free  in  a  fenceless  plain.  How  many  and  how  bright  would 
be  the  results  in  every  direction  of  interest,  not  to  the  arts  merely,  but 
to  national  happiness  and  virtue,  it  would  be  as  difficult  to  }>rocenceive 
as  it  would  seem  extravagant  to  state :  but  the  first,  perhaps  the 
least,  of  them  would  be  an  increased  sense  of  fellowship  among 
oui-selves,  a  cementing  of  every  patriotic  bond  of  union,  a  proud  and 
happy  recognition  of  our  affection  for  and  sym|)athy  with  each  other, 
and  our  willingness  in  all  things  to  submit  oui-selves  to  every  law 
that  could  advance  the  interest  of  the  community ;  a  barrier,  also, 
the  best  conceivable,  to  the  unhappy  rivalry  of  tKe  upper  and  middle 
classes,  in  houses,  furniture,  and  establishments ;  and  even  a  check 
to  much  of  what  is  as  vain  as  it  is  painful  in  the  oppositions  of 
rehgious  ]>arties  respecting  mattei-s  of  ritual.  These,  I  say,  would  be 
the  first  consequences.     Economy  increased  tenfold,  as  it  would  bf 


174  THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE. 

by  the  simplicity  of  practice  ;  domestic  comforts  aninterfered  with  by 
the  caprice  and  mistakes  of  architects  ignorant  of  the  capacities  of 
the  styles  they  use,  and  all  the  symmetry  and  sighthness  of  our 
harmonized  streets  and  public  buildings,  are  things  of  shghter  account 
in  the  catalo^rue  of  benefits.  But  it  would  be  mere  enthusiasm  to 
endeavor  to  trace  them  farther.  I  have  sufiered  myself  too  long  to 
mdulge  in  the  speculative  statement  of  requirements  which  perhaps 
we  have  more  immediate  and  more  serious  work  than  to  supply,  and 
of  feelings  which  it  may  be  only  contingently  in  our  power  to  recover. 
I  should  be  unjustly  thought  unaware  of  the  difficulty  of  what  1  have 
proposed,  or  of  the  unimportance  of  the  whole  subject  as  compared 
with  many  which  are  brought  home  to  our  interests  and  fixed  upon 
our  consideration  by  the  wild  course  of  the  present  century.  But  of 
difficulty  and  of  importance  it  is  for  others  to  judge.  I  have  hmited 
myself  to  the  simple  statement  of  what,  if  we  desire  to  have 
architecture,  we  must  primarily  endeavor  to  feel  and  do :  but  then 
it  may  not  be  desirable  for  ils  to  have  architectm-e  at  all.  There  are 
many  w^ho  feel  it  to  be  so  ;  many  who  sacrifice  much  to  that  end  ; 
and  I  am  sorry  to  see  their  energies  wasted  and  their  lives  disquieted 
in  vain.  I  have  stated,  therefore,  the  only  ways  in  which  that  end  is 
attainable,  without  venturing  even  to  express  an  opinion  as  to  its  real 
desirableness.  I  have  an  opinion,  and  the  zeal  with  which  I  have 
spoken  may  sometimes  have  betrayed  it,  but  I  hold  to  it  with  no 
confidence.  I  know  too  well  the  undue  importance  which  the  study 
that  every  man  follows  must  assume  in  his  own  eyes,  to  trust  my 
own  impressions  of  the  dignity  of  that  of  Architecture ;  and  yet  I 
think  I  cannot  be  utterly  mistaken  in  regarding  it  as  at  least  useful 
in  the  sense  of  a  National  emplo}'ment.  I  am  confii-med  in  tliis 
impression  by  what  I  see  passing  among  the  states  of  Europe  at  this 
instant.  All  the  horror,  distress,  and  tumult  which  oppress  the 
foreign  nations,  are  traceable,  among  the  other  secondary  causes 
through  which  God  is  working  out  His  will  upon  them,  to  the  sknple 
one  of  their  not  ha\-ing  enough  to  do.  I  am  not  bhnd  to  the  distress 
among  their  operatives  ;  nor  do  I  deny  the  nearer  and  visibly  active 
causes  of  the  movement :  the  recklessness  of  ^•illany  in  the  leaders  of 
revolt,  the  absence  of  common  moral  principle  in  the  upper  classes, 
and  of  common  courage  and  honesty  in  the  heads  of  governments. 
But  these  causes  themselves  are  ultimately  traceable  to  a  deeper  and 
simpler  one  :  the  recklessness  of  the  demagogue,  the  immorahty  of 


THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE.  iTo 

tUe  middle  class,  and  the  effeminacy  and  treacher}'  of  the  noble,  ar« 
traceable  in  all  these  nations  to  the  commonest  and  most  fruitful 
cause  of  calamity  in  households — idltmess.  We  think  too  much  in 
our  bene\ulent  efforts,  more  multiplied  and  more  vain  day  by  day,  of 
betteiing  men  by  giving  them  ad\ice  and  instruction.  There  are  few 
who  \vill  take  either :  the  chief  thing  they  need  is  occupation.  I  do 
not  mean  work  in  the  sense  of  bread, — I  mean  work  in  the  sense  of 
mental  interest ;  for  those  who  either  are  placed  abo\  e  the  necessity 
of  labor  for  their  bread,  or  who  will  not  work  although  they  should. 
There  is  a  vast  quantity  of  idle  energy  among  European  nations  at 
this  time,  which  ought  to  go  into  handicrafts  ;  there  are  multitudes 
of  idle  semi-gentlemen  who  ought  to  be  shoemakers  and  carpenters  ; 
but  since  they  will  not  be  these  so  long  as  they  can  help  it,  the 
business  of  the  philanthropist  is  to  find  them  some  other  emjjloyment 
than  disturbing  governments.  It  is  of  no  use  to  tell  them  they  are 
fools,  and  that  they  will  only  make  themselves  miserable  in  the  end 
as  well  as  others  :  if  they  have  nothing  else  to  do,  they  will  do 
mischief ;  and  the  man  who  will  not  work,  and  who  has  no  means 
of  intellectual  pleasure,  is  as  sure  to  become  an  instrument  of  enl  as 
if  he  had  sold  himself  bodily  to  Satan.  I  have  myself  seen  enough 
of  the  daily  hfe  of  the  young  educated  men  of  France  and  Italj ,  .^ 
account  for,  as  it  deserves,  the  deepest  national  suffering  and 
degradation  ;  and  though,  for  the  most  part,  our  commerce  and  our 
natural  habits  of  industry  preserve  us  from  a  similar  paralysis,  yet  it 
would  be  wise  to  consider  whether  the  forms  of  employment  which 
we  chiefly  adopt  or  promote,  are  as  well  calculated  as  they  might  be 
to  improve  and  elevate  us. 

We  have  just  spent,  for  instance,  a  hundred  and  fifty  millions, 
^^ith  which  we  have  paid  men  for  digging  ground  from  one  place 
and  depositing  it  in  another.  We  have  formed  a  large  class  of  men, 
the  railway  navvies,  especially  reckless,  unmanageable,  and  dangerous. 
We  have  maintained  besides  (let  us  state  the  benefits  as  fiiirly  as 
possible)  a  number  of  iron  founders  in  an  unhealthy  and  painful 
employment ;  we  have  developed  (this  is  at  least  good)  a  very  large 
amount  of  mechanical  ingenuity  ;  and  we  have,  in  fine,  attained  the 
power  of  going  fjist  fi-om  one  place  to  another.  Meantime  we  have 
had  no  mental  interest  or  concern  ourselves  in  the  operations  we  have 
set  on  foot,  but  have  been  left  to  the  usual  vanities  and  cares  of  our 
existence.     Suppose,  on  the  other  hand,  that  we  had  employed  thi 


178  THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE. 

same  sums  in  buildin^'  beautiful  houses  and  churches.  Wf»  should 
have  maintained  the  same  number  of  men,  not  in  driving  wheel- 
barrows, but  in  a  distinctly  technical,  if  not  intellectual,  employment 
and  those  who  were  more  intelligent  among  them  would  have  been 
especialh^  liappy  in  that  employment,  as  having  room  in  it  for  the 
development  of  their  fancy,  and  being  du*ected  by  it  to  that  observation 
of  beauty  which,  associated  with  the  pursuit  of  natural  science,  at 
present  forms  the  enjoyment  of  many  of  the  more  intelhgent 
manufacturing  operatives.  Of  mechanical  ingenuity,  there  is,  I 
imagine,  at  least  as  much  required  to  build  a  cathedral  as  to  cut  a 
tunnel  or  contrive  a  locomotive  :  we  should,  therefore,  have  developed 
as  much  science,  while  the  artistical  element  of  intellect  would  have 
been  added  to  the  gain.  Meantime  we  should  oui-selves  have  been 
made  happier  and  wiser  by  the  interest  we  should  have  taken  in  the 
work  with  which  we  were  pei-sonally  concerned  ;  and  when  all  was 
done,  instead  of  the  very  doubtful  advantage  of  the  power  of  going 
fast  from  place  to  place,  we  should  have  had  the  certain  advantage 
of  increased  pleasure  in  stopping  at  home. 

IX.  There  are  many  other  less  capacious,  but  more  constant, 
channels  of  expenditure,  quite  as  disputable  in  their  beneficial 
tendency ;  and  we  are,  perhaps,  hardly  enough  in  the  habit  of 
inquiring,  viith.  respect  to  any  particular  form  of  luxury  or  any 
customary  apphance  of  life,  whether  the  kind  of  employment  it 
gives  to  the  operative  or  the  dependant  be  as  healthy  and  fitting  an 
employment  as  we  might  otherwise  provide  for  him.  It  is  not 
enough  to  find  men  absolute  subsistence ;  we  should  think  of  the 
manner  of  hfe  which  our  demands  necessitate  ;  and  endeavor,  as  far 
as  may  be,  to  make  all  our  needs  such  as  may,  in  the  supply  of 
them,  raise,  as  well  as  feed,  the  poor.  It  is  far  better  to  give  work 
which  is  above  the  men,  than  to  educate  the  men  to  be  above  their 
work.  It  may  be  doubted,  for  instance,  whether  the  habits  of 
luxury,  which  necessitate  a  large  train  of  men  servants,  be  a  whole- 
some form  of  expenditure ;  and  more,  whether  the  pursuits  which 
have  a  tendency  to  enlarge  the  class  of  the  jockey  and  the  groom 
be  a  philanthropic  form  of  mental  occupation.  So  again,  consider 
the  large  number  of  men  whose  lives  are  employed  by  civihzed 
nations  in  cutting  facets  upon  jewels.  There  is  much  dexterity  of 
hand,  patience,  and  ingenuity  thus  bestowed,  which  are  simply 
bm'ned  out  in   the   blaze  of  the   tiara,  without,  so  fai*   as   I  see^ 


THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE.  iV? 

bestowing  any  pleasure  upon  those  who  wear  or  who  behold,  at  all 
compensatory  for  the  loss  of  life  and  mental  power  which  are 
involved  in  the  employment  of  the  workman.  He  would  be  far 
more  healthily  and  happily  sustained  by  being  set  to  carve  stone  ; 
certain  qualities  of  his  mind,  for  which  there  is  no  room  in  his 
present  occupation,  would  develope  themselves  in  the  nobler ;  and  I 
believe  that  most  women  MX)uld,  in  the  end,  prefer  the  pleasure  of 
having  built  a  church,  or  contributed  to  the  adornment  of  a 
cathedral,  to  the  pride  of  bearing  a  certain  quantity  of  adamant  on 
their  foreheads. 

X.  I  could  pursue  this  subject  willingly,  but  I  have  some  strange 
notions  about  it  which  it  is  perhaps  wiser  not  loosely  to  set  down. 
I  content  myself  with  finally  reasserting,  what  has  been  throujrhout 
the  burden  of  the  preceding  pages,  that  whatever  rank,  or  whatever 
importance,  may  be  attributed  or  attached  to  their  immediate 
subject,  there  is  at  least  some  value  in  the  analogies  with  which  its 
pursuit  has  presented  us,  and  some  instruction  in  the  frequent 
reference  of  its  commonest  necessities  to  the  mighty  laws,  in  the 
sense  and  scope  of  which  all  men  are  Builders,  whom  every  hour 
sees  laying  the  stubble  or  the  stone. 

I  have  paused,  not  once  nor  twice,  as  I  wrote,  and  often  have 
checked  the  course  of  what  might  otherwise  have  been  importunate 
persuasion,  as  the  thought  has  crossed  me,  how  soon  all  Architecture 
may  be  vain,  except  that  which  is  not  made  with  hands.  There  is 
something  ominous  in  the  light  which  has  enal>led  us  to  look  back 
with  disdain  upon  the  ages  among  whose  lovely  vestiges  we  have 
been  wandering.  I  could  smile  when  I  hear  the  hopeful  exultation 
of  many,  at  the  new  reach  of  worldly  science,  and  vigor  of  worldly 
eftbrt;  as  if  we  were  again  at  the  beginning  of  days.  There  is 
thunder  on  the  horizon  as  well  as  dawn.  The  sun  was  risen  upon 
the  earth  when  Lot  entered  into  Zoar. 


NOTES. 


1.  Page  12.  "  With  the  idolatrous  Egyptian.'' — The  probability  is 
indeed  slight  in  comparison,  but  it  is  a  probability  nevertheless,  and 
one  which  is  daily  on  the  increase,  I  trust  that  I  may  not  be  thought 
to  underrate  the  danger  of  such  sympathy,  though  I  speak  lightly  of  the 
chance  of  it.  I  have  confidence  in  the  central  religious  body  of  the 
English  and  Scottish  people,  as  being  not  only  untainted  with  Roman- 
ism, but  immoveably  adverse  to  it :  and,  however  strangely  and  swiftly 
the  heresy  of  the  Protestant  and  victory  of  the  Papist  may  seem  to  be 
extending  among  us,  I  feel  assured  that  there  are  barriers  in  the  living 
faith  of  this  nation  which  neither  can  overpass.  Yet  this  confidence  is 
only  in  the  ultimate  faithfulness  of  a  few,  not  in  the  security  of  the 
nation  from  the  sin  and  the  punishment  of  partial  apostasy.  Both 
have,  indeed,  in  some  sort,  been  committed  and  sutTered  already ;  and, 
in  expressing  ray  belief  of  the  close  connection  of  the  distress  and 
burden  which  the  mass  of  the  people  at  present  sustain,  with  the 
encouragement  which,  in  various  directions,  has  been  given  to  the 
Papist,  do  not  let  me  be  called  superstitious  or  irrational.  No  man 
was  ever  more  inclined  than  I,  both  by  natural  disposition  and  by 
many  ties  of  early  association,  to  a  sympathy  with  the  principles  and 
forms  of  the  Romanist  Church  ;  and  there  is  much  in  its  discipline 
which  conscientiously,  as  well  as  sympathetically,  I  could  love  and 
advocate.  But,  m  confessing  this  strength  of  affectionate  prejudice, 
surely  I  vindicate  more  respect  for  my  firmly  expressed  belief,  that  the 
entire  doctrine  and  system  of  that  Church  is  in  the  fullest  sense  anti- 
Christian ;  that  its  lying  and  idolatrous  Power  is  the  darkest  plague 
that  ever  held  commission  to  hurt  the  Earth ;  that  all  those  yearnings 
for  unity  and  fellowship,  and  common  obedience,  which  have  been  the 


180  NOTES. 

root  of  our  late  heresies,  are  as  false  in  their  grounds  as  fatal  in  theii 
termination  ;  that  we  never  can  have  the  remotest  fellowship  with  tht 
utteiers  of  that  fearful  Falsehood,  and  live  :  that  we  have  nothing  to 
look  to  from  them  but  treacherous  hostility  ;  and  that,  exactly  in  pro 
portion  to  the  sternness  of  our  separation  from  them,  will  be  not  only 
the  spiritual  but  the  temporal  blessings  granted  by  God  to  this  country. 
How  close  has  been  the  correspondence  hitherto  between  the  degree 
of  resistance  to  Romanism  marked  in  our  national  acts,  and  the  honor 
with  which  those  acts  have  been  crowned,  has  been  sufficiently  proved 
in  a  short  essay  by  a  writer  whose  investigations  into  the  influence  of 
Religion  upon  the  fate  of  Nations  have  been  singularly  earnest  and 
successful — a  writer  with  whom  I  faithfully  and  firmly  believe  that 
England  will  never  be  prosperous  again,  and  that  the  honor  of  her 
arms  will  be  tarnished,  and  her  commerce  blighted,  and  her  national 
character  degraded,  until  the  Romanist  is  expelled  from  the  place  which 
has  impiously  been  conceded  to  him  among  her  legislators.  "  What- 
ever be  the  lot  of  those  to  whom  error  is  an  inheritance,  woe  be  to  the 
man  and  the  people  to  whom  it  is  an  adoption.  If  England,  free  above 
all  other  nations,  sustained  amidst  the  trials  which  have  covered  Europe, 
before  her  eyes,  with  burning  and  slaughter,  and  enlightened  by  the 
fullest  knowledge  of  diviuQ  truth,  shall  refuse  fidelity  to  the  compact 
by  which  those  matchless  privileges  have  been  given,  her  condemna- 
tion will  not  linger.  She  has  already  made  one  step  full  of  danger. 
She  has  committed  the  capital  error  of  mistaking  that  for  a  purely 
political  question  which  was  a  purely  religious  one.  Her  foot  already 
hangs  over  the  edge  of  the  precipice.  It  must  be  retracted,  or  the 
empire  is  but  a  name.  In  the  clouds  and  darkness  which  seem  to  be 
deepening  on  all  human  polic}' — in  the  gathering  tumults  of  Europe, 
and  the  feverish  discontents  at  home — it  may  be  even  difficult  to 
discern  where  the  power  yet  lives  to  erect  the  fallen  majesty  of  the 
constitution  once  more.  But  there  are  mighty  means  in  sincerity  ;  and 
if  no  miracle  was  ever  wrought  for  the  faithless  and  despairing,  the 
country  that  will  help  itself  will  never  be  left  destitute  of  the  help  of 
Heaven"  (Historical  Essays,  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Croly,  1842).  The  first 
of  these  essays,  "England  the  Fortress  of  Christianity,"  I  most 
earnestly  recommend  to  the  meditation  of  those  who  doubt  that  a 
special  punishment  is  inflicted  by  the  Deity  upon  all  national  crime, 
and  perhaps,  of  all  such  crime,  most  instantly  upon  the  betrayal,  on 


NOTES.  181 

the  part  of  England,  of  the  truth  and  faith  with  which  she  has  been 
entrusted. 

2.  p.  16.  '■^  Not  the  gift,  hut  the  giving T — Much  attention  has  lately 
been  directed  to  the  subject  of  religious  art,  and  we  are  now  in  pos- 
session of  all  kinds  of  interpretations  and  classifications  of  it,  and  of 
the  leading  facts  of  its  history.  But  the  greatest  question  of  all  con- 
nected with  it  remains  entirely  unanswered,  What  good  did  it  do  to 
real  religion?  There  is  no  subject  into  which  I  should  so  much  rejoice 
to  see  a  serious  and  conscientious  inquiry  instituted  as  this;  an  inquiry, 
neither  undertaken  in  artistical  enthusiasm  nor  in  monkish  sympathy, 
but  dogged,  merciless,  and  fearless.  I  love  the  religious  art  of  Italy  as 
well  as  most  men,  but  there  is  a  wide  difference  between  loving  it 
as  a  manifestation  of  individual  feeling,  and  looking  to  it  as  an 
instrument  of  popular  benefit.  I  have  not  knowledge  enough  to 
form  even  the  shadow  of  an  opinion  on  this  latter  point,  and  I  should 
be  most  grateful  to  any  one  who  would  put  it  in  my  power  to  do  so. 
There  are,  as  it  seems  to  me, three  distinct  questions  to  be  considered: 
the  first,  What  has  been  the  effect  of  external  splendor  on  the  genuine- 
ness and  earnestness  of  Christian  worship  ?  the  second.  What  the  use 
of  pictorial  or  sculptural  representation  in  the  communication  of 
Christian  historical  knowledge,  or  excitement  of  affectionate  imagina- 
tion ?  the  third.  What  the  influence  of  the  practice  of  religious  art  on 
the  life  of  the  artist  ? 

In  answering  these  inquiries,  we  should  have  to  consider  separately 
every  collateral  influence  and  circumstance ;  and,  by  a  most  subtle 
analysis,  to  eliminate  the  real  effect  of  art  from  the  effects  of  the 
abuses  with  which  it  was  associated.  This  could  be  done  only  by  a 
Christian ;  not  a  man  who  would  fall  in  love  with  a  sweet  color  or 
sweet  expression,  but  who  would  look  for  true  faith  and  consistent  life 
as  the  object  of  all.  It  never  has  been  done  yet,  and  the  question 
remains  a  subject  of  vain  and  endless  contention  between  parties  of 
opposite  prejudices  and  temperaments. 

3.  p.  17.  "  To  the  concealment  of  ichat  is  really  good  or  greats — I 
have  often  been  surprised  at  the  supposition  that  Romanism,  in  its 
present  condition,  could  either  patronise  art,  or  profit  by  it.  The  noble 
painted  windows  of  St.  Maclou  at  Rouen,  and  many  other  churches  in 


182  NOTES. 

France,  are  entirely  blocked  up  behind  the  altars  by  the  erection  of 
huge  gilded  wooden  sunbeams,  with  interspersed  cherubs. 

■  4.  p.  23.  "  With  dijferent  pattern  of  traceries  in  e'/cV — I  have 
certainly  not  examined  the  seven  hundred  and  four  traceries  (four  to 
each  niche)  so  as  to  be  sure  that  none  are  alike ;  but  they  have  the 
aspect  of  continual  variation,  and  even  the  roses  of  the  pendants  of  the 
small  groined  niche  roofs  are  all  of  different  patterns. 

5.  p.  32.  "  Its  Jiamhoijant  traceries  of  the  last  and  most  degraded 
forms'' — They  are  noticed  by  Mr.  Whewell  as  forming  the  figure  of 
the  fleur-de-lis,  always  a  mark,  when  in  tracery  bars,  of  the  most 
debased  flamboyant.  It  occurs  in  the  central  tower  of  B.iyeux,  very 
richly  in  the  buttresses  of  St.  Gervais  at  Falaise,  and  in  the  small 
niches  of  some  of  the  domestic  buildings  at  Rouen.  Nor  is  it  only  the 
tower  of  St.  Ouen  which  is  overrated.  Its  nave  is  a  base  imitation,  in 
the  flamboyant  period,  of  an  early  Gothic  arrangement ;  the  niches  on 
its  piers  are  barbarisms;  there  is  a  huge  square  shaft  run  through  the 
ceiling  of  the  aisles  to  support  the  nave  piers,  the  ugliest  excrescence  I 
ever  saw  on  a  Gothic  building ;  the  traceries  of  the  nave  are  the  most 
insipid  and  faded  flamboyant;  those  of  the  transept  clerestory  present 
a  singularly  distorted  condition  of  perpendicular;  even  the  elaborate 
door  of  the  south  transept  is,  for  its  fine  period,  extravagant  and  almost 
grotesque  in  its  foliation  and  pendants.  There  is  nothing  truly  fine  in 
the  church  but  the  choir,  the  light  triforium,  and  tall  clerestory,  the 
circle  of  Eastern  chapels,  the  details  of  sculpture,  and  the  general 
lightness  of  proportion ;  these  merits  being  seen  to  the  utmost 
advantage  by  the  freedom  of  the  body  of  the  church  from  all  in- 
cumbrance. 

6.  p.  33.     Compare  Iliad  E.  1.  219.  with  Odyssey  Q.  1.  5—10. 

7.  p.  34.  "  Does  not  admit  iron  as  a  constructive  materiaV — Except 
in  Chaucer's  noble  temple  of  Mars. 

"  And  dounward  from  an  hill  under  a  bent, 
Ther  stood  the  temple  of  Mars,  armipotent, 
Wrought  all  of  burned  stele,  of  which  th'  entree 
Was  longe  and  streitc,  and  gastly  for  to  see. 


NOTES.  183 

And  thereout  came  a  rage  and  swiche  a  vise. 
That  it  made  all  the  gates  for  to  rise. 
The  northern  light  in  at  the  dore  shone. 
For  window  on  the  wall  ne  was  ther  none, 
Thurgh  which  men  mighten  any  light  dieceme. 
The  dore  was  all  of  athamant  eterne, 
Yclenched  overthwart  and  endelong 
With  yren  tough,  and  for  to  make  it  strong. 
Every  piler  the  temple  to  sustene 
Was  tonne-gret,  of  yren  bright  and  shene." 

The  Knighie's  Tale. 

There  is,  by  the  bye,  an  exquisite  piece  of  architectural  color  just 
before : 

"  And  northward,  in  a  turret  on  the  wall 
Of  alabaster  white,  and  red  corall. 
An  oratorie  riche  for  to  see. 
In  worship  of  Diane  of  Chastitee." 

8.  p.  34.  «  The  Builders  of  Salisbury:'—''  This  way  of  tying  walls 
together  with  iron,  instead  of  making  them  of  that  substance  and  form, 
that  they  shall  naturally  poise  themselves  upon  their  buttment,  is 
against  the  rules  of  good  architecture,  not  only  because  iron  is  cor- 
ruptible by  rust,  but  because  it  is  fallacious,  having  unequal  veins  in 
the  metal,  some  places  of  the  same  bar  being  three  times  stronger  than 
others,  and  yet  all  sound  to  appearance."  Survey  of  Salisbury  Cathe- 
dral in  1668,  by  Sir  C.  Wren.  For  my  own  part,  I  think  it  better 
work  to  bind  a  tower  with  iron,  than  to  support  a  false  dome  by  a  brick 
pyramid. 

9.  p.  48.  Plate  3.  In  this  plate,  figures  4,  5,  and  6,  are  glazed  win- 
dows, but  fig.  2.  is  the  open  light  of  a  belfry  tower,  and  figures  1,  and 
3,  are  in  triforia,  the  latter  also  occurring  filled,  on  the  central  tower 
of  Coutances. 

10.  p.  79.  "  Ornaments  of  the  transept  toicers  of  Rouen.''* — The  reader 
cannot  but  observe  the  agreeableness,  as  a  mere  arrangement  of  shade, 
which  especially  belongs  to  the  "  sacred  trefoil."  I  do  not  think  that 
the  element  of  foliation  has  been  enough  insisted  upon  in  its  intimate 


184  NOTES. 

relations  with  the  power  of  Gothic  work.  If  I  were  asked  what  waa 
the  most  distinctive  feature  of  its  perfect  style,  I  should  say  the 
Trefoil.  It  is  the  very  soul  of  it;  and  I  think  the  loveliest  Gothic  is 
always  formed  upon  simple  and  bold  tracings  of  it,  taking  place 
between  the  blank  lancet  arch  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  overcharged 
cinquefoiled  arch  on  the  other. 

11.  p.  79.  "  And  levelled  cusps  of  sione.^^ — The  plate  represents  one 
of  the  lateral  windows  of  the  third  story  of  the  Palazzo  Foscari.  It 
was  drawn  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  Grand  Canal,  and  the  lines  of 
its  traceries  are  therefore  given  as  they  appear  in  somewhat  distant 
effect.  It  shows  only  segments  of  the  characteristic  quatrefoils  of  the 
central  windows.  I  found  by  measurement  their  construction  exceed- 
ingly simple.  Four  circles  are  drawn  in  contact  within  the  large 
circle.  Two  tangential  lines  are  then  drawn  to  each  opposite  pair, 
enclosing  the  four  circles  in  a  hollow  cross.  An  inner  circle  struck 
through  the  intersections  of  the  circles  by  the  tangents,  truncates  the 
cusps. 

12.  p.  107.     "  Into  vertical  equal  parts." — Not  absolutely  so.     There 

are  variations  partly  accidental  (or  at  least  compelled  by  the  architect's 

effort  to  recover  the  vertical),  between  the  sides  of  the  stories ;  and  the 

upper  and  lower  story  are  taller  than  the  rest.     There  is,  however,  an 

apparent  equality  between  five  out  of  the  eight  tiers. 
**- 

13.  p.  114.  "  Never  paint  a  column  with  vertical  lines." — It  should 
be  observed,  however,  that  any  pattern  which  gives  opponent  lines  in 
its  p.arts,  may  be  arranged  on  lines  parallel  with  the  main  structure. 
Thus,  rows  of  diamonds,  like  spots  on  a  snake's  back,  or  the  bones  on 
a  sturgeon,  are  exquisitely  applied  both  to  vertical  and  spiral  columns. 
The  loveliest  instances  of  such  decoration  that  I  know,  are  the  pillars 
of  the  cloister  of  St.  John  Lateran,  lately  illustrated  by  Mr.  Digby 
Wyatt,  in  his  most  valuable  and  faithful  work  on  antique  mosaic. 

14.  p.  119.  On  the  cover  of  this  volume  the  reader  will  find  some 
figure  outlines  of  the  same  period  and  character,  from  the  floor  of  San 
Miniato  at  Florence.  I  have  to  thank  its  designer,  Mr.  W.  Harry 
Rogers,  for  his  intelligent  arrangement  of  them,  and  graceful  adapta- 
tion of  the  connecting  arabesque. 


NOTES.  185 

15.  p.  147.  "  The  jiowers  lost  their  light,  the  river  its  music.'''' — Yet 
not  all  their  light,  nor  all  their  music.  Compare  Modern  Painters,  vol. 
ii.  see.  1.  chap.  iv.  \  8. 

16.  p.  159.  "  By  the  artists  of  the  time  of  Pericles.'''' — This  subordina- 
tion was  first  remarked  to  me  by  a  friend,  whose  profound  knowledge 
of  Greek  art  will  not,  I  trust,  be  reserved  always  for  the  advantage  of 
his  friends  only :  Mr.  C.  Newton,  of  the  British  Museum. 

17.  p.  165.  " /«  one  of  the  noblest  poems." — Coleridge's  Ode  to 
France  : — 

"  Ye  Clouds !  that  far  above  me  float  and  pause. 

Whose  pathless  march  no  mortal  may  control ! 

Ye  Ocean-Waves !  that  wheresoe'er  ye  roll, 
Yield  homage  only  to  eternal  laws ! 
Ye  Woods !  that  listen  to  the  night-birds  singing, 

Midway  the  smooth  and  perilous  slope  reclined. 
Save  when  your  own  imperious  branches  swinging. 

Have  made  a  solemn  music  of  the  wind ! 
Where,  like  a  man  beloved  of  God, 
Through  glooms,  which  never  woodman  trod. 

How  oft,  pursuing  fancies  holy. 
My  moonlight  way  o'er  flowering  weeds  I  wound. 

Inspired,  beyond  the  guess  of  folly. 
By  each  rude  shape  and  wild  unconquerable  sound ! 
O  ye  loud  Waves !  and  O  ye  Forests  high ! 

And  O  ye  Clouds  that  far  above  me  soared ! 
Thou  rising  Sun  !  thou  blue  rejoicing  Sky  ! 

Yea,  everything  that  is  and  will  be  free  ! 

Bear  witness  for  me,  wheresoe'er  ye  be, 

With  what  deep  worship  I  have  still  adored 
The  spirit  of  divinest  Liberty." 

Noble  verse,  but  erring  thought :  contrast  George  Herbert  :— 

"  Slight  those  who  say  amidst  their  sickly  healths. 
Thou  livest  by  rule.     What  doth  not  so  but  man  ? 
Houses  are  built  by  rule  and  Commonwealths. 


186  NOTES. 

Entice  the  trusty  sun,  if  that  you  can. 
From  his  ecliptic  line  ;  beckon  the  sky. 
Who  lives  by  rule  then,  keeps  good  company. 

"  Who  keeps  no  guard  upon  himself  is  slack. 
And  rots  to  nothing  at  the  next  great  thaw  ; 
Man  is  a  shop  of  rules :  a  well-truse'd  pack 
Whose  every  parcel  underwrites  a  law. 
Lose  not  thyself,  nor  give  thy  humors  way  ; 
Goa  gave  them  to  thee  under  lock  and  key." 


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